


Sunshine on Leith

by GobletOfCider



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Family, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Raises Teddy Lupin, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 77,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27395518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GobletOfCider/pseuds/GobletOfCider
Summary: After years of running from his problems, avoiding family and anything that resembles stability, George finds himself a little bit smitten with single dad, Harry. Settling down in Edinburgh was never part of the plan, but it just might be everything he didn't know he needed.A muggle AU about grief, family, and relationships. Rated for language and some adult themes, but no explicit sexual content.
Relationships: Harry Potter/George Weasley
Comments: 42
Kudos: 210





	1. Stay and Make My Heart Fly

**Author's Note:**

> Perfunctory disclaimer that I don't own any part of JKR's Harry Potter World.
> 
> Credit to The Proclaimers for the title and chapter headings.
> 
> Posted November 5th, 4,830 words.

What the fuck is wrong with Scotland?

All I wanted tonight was a few drinks and an easy pull. When did gay clubs get so...sparkly? Was sequins and glitter this prevalent in gay fashion back in Bristol and London and I just didn't notice? It certainly wasn't like this in Reykjavik. Has something changed since January? No, it probably has more to do with that Iceland is too cold to wear this few clothes in winter. Where are the everyday sort of blokes? When did tight bright clothes become mandatory? Is it just this club? Is it a theme night? Maybe I should have checked Twitter or something.

How am I supposed to convince someone here to even look my way when I'm fully clothed and all the other guys here are leaving little to the imagination?

I haven't pulled in a while, not since my last night in Reykjavik more than six months ago. I'm on the way to bumfuck, Egypt (borrowing one of Tommy's Americanisms. Americisms? States-istics? Whatever). I'm heading to Fraserburgh, Scotland for my next job. The irony of Tommy's favourite phrase is not lost on me. When heading toward a remote, northeastern, Scottish fishing town, one can only assume there will be few to no opportunities for bumming. I have just under a week to try to satisfy a certain itch in Edinburgh. Hopefully more than once. It's the first time in nearly three years I've been surrounded by predominantly English-speakers. But surrounded by the young, sparkly, bright, fresh-faced gay men of Scotland, I never thought I'd miss that skivvy bar in Cartagena.

Isn't Scotland supposed to be full of cynical pessimists who openly hate nearly everyone they meet, family included? They are supposed to be as aloof as the French and as coarse as the Northern Irish. I certainly didn't expect them to be so...happy and ... bubbly and ... flamboyantly gay.

I need a lot more to drink if I'm going to dance to a Lady Gaga remix, that's for goddamn sure.

But I don't really drink much anymore. I'm already puttering around the salvage yard of life, and alcohol will definitely get me a one-way ticket to the incinerator.

"Oh. My. God! Are you Ed Sheeran?!?!" A twink wearing bright gold, glittering spandex shorts and a pink sequins neck tie asks as he stumbles into me. It's the fourth time I've been asked this tonight. It really was a mistake to wear a plaid shirt.

"Sorry, mate. Name's George and I can't sing a lick."

"Oh," sparkle-pants man-boy says dismissively. He drops a shoulder as he quickly turns on his heel and runway stomps away. It would have been more effective if he wasn't also impersonating the Tower of Pisa.

I need to get out of here. Fresh air and cigarettes. A winning combination.

I don't go out much anymore. What do I have to dance about? I don't fit in with the other men here. I don't have club clothes. Not anymore. Everything I own fits in a rucksack and half of that is work gear. Packing light is essential for my migrant lifestyle.

I'm wearing simple dark-wash jeans. Worn outlines at the pockets show where my phone, wallet, and cigarette case sit. I'm wearing my best shirt, a deep purple and black flannel button up with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. It's a signature Ed Sheeran look, so I guess I understand why all the drunks keep wanting selfies. It's the nicest outfit I own, even if it smells slightly of fish and sea spray, even after a wash.

I push my way through the crowd, past the bouncer, and up the stairs to the street. I lean back against the railing outside the night club entrance, light a cigarette and take a deep drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs and nicotine soothe my irritability. My head falls back and I stare at the night sky, clear for a change. It's nothing compared to the bright Mediterranean sky, or away from light pollution like the North Sea, or the northern lights dancing across the Norwegian Sea, but any night I can see the stars is special. I feel both at peace and extremely lonely all at once.

I pull out my mobile and turn it on. I don't have much in the way of a social life. I left that behind. There was no place for it after. I have a text from Sigridur, my former landlady in Höfn.

**_Sigridur_ ** _: My new tenant doesn't clean his dishes. It appears you have spoiled me! Come back soon, dear!_

**_George_ ** _: LOL. If I know you like I think, he'll be doing his dishes, your dishes, laundry and gardening before the week is out. Made it to Edinburgh, btw. It's pretty shit so far. Miss you._

I know it's too late for her to text back. She leaves her phone charging in the kitchen overnight so nothing will disturb her. I back out and scroll through my contacts.

Angelina...Bill...Charlie... Dad...Ginny...Home...Lee...Mum...Oliver...Percy...Ron. I haven't spoken to any of them in over two and a half years. Yesterday was my first day back in the UK in nearly three years. I don't plan to go to England anytime soon. Maybe I'll fit in with these Scots better than I thought?

I don't know what to say to any of them.

My thumb hovers over Dad's icon.

What can I say? How do I apologise? What does a call or text matter when I'm still not ready to go home?

My chest tightens and my mobile slides back in its place. I'm such a coward.

The small crowd of smokers around me are all in groups or couples, and all are apparently having a ball. Or, oh god, vomiting. What a time to be alive?

Only one bloke is by himself. He has short cropped black hair with a fringe, pale skin, and a slim build. He isn't exactly short, but he's a few centimetres shorter than me, and he'd certainly be a head shorter than Ron. He's wearing dark tan, slim-fit trousers, a heather-gray button down short-sleeved shirt, and dark brown, matte leather shoes. The man has coincidentally mirrored my style, posture, and mood. He's leaning against the brick wall of the club, head resting back, a vacant expression on his face. One arm lays across his chest, holding his other arm just above the elbow. His other hand is dropped along his thigh, holding a forgotten cigarette that is burned down to the filter. His face is sparsely dotted with freckles on his nose and cheeks, he has a bit of dark stubble forming around a sharp, square jaw. His lips are full and slightly parted, like he forgot to close them after puffing out his last breath of smoke. His eyes are his distinctive feature. Long, dark lashes garnish his large, almond-shaped eyes. Even in the dull light from the street lamp and the neon sign flickering above them, I can tell that his eyes are uncommonly bright.

But that might be accentuated by the fact this bloke is crying.

A line of tears has drained from the outside corner of his eyes and is trailing down his cheek. Two small, dark spots have blossomed on his shirt. They are silent tears - the kind that fall without you realising. The kind that don't rattle your breath or make snot cascade out of your sinuses. The kind that just sit there waiting to fall in a quiet moment when you lose yourself.

I'm very familiar with this kind of crying. It happens when I lay back in my bunk on the trawler, staring at the underside of the bed above me, listening to the snores around me and the gentle lapping of waves on the hull and the steady hum of the engine. Or when I smoke on the railing after we've reeled in the nets for the day, maybe watching an errant flock of birds (or the sunset on the horizon if I'm feeling poetic).

Tears for Fred.

Tears for family left behind.

Tears of self-pity.

Tears of loneliness.

Tears of hopeless acceptance.

Before I've decided to, I'm approaching him, not knowing what to say, yet standing in front of the bloke in just five short strides. He doesn't notice that he has company for a few moments. I pull out my cigarette case, holding it open to the stranger.

"I think that one's a goner, mate," I say. The stranger blinks, casting his eyes on me. Green eyes search my face, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion before they settle on the offered cigarettes.

"Oh, no thanks, I-" he says, haltingly as he raises his hand only to realise his cigarette is long past smoking. I raise my eyebrows at the stranger, and chuckle at his expression. "Oh... never mind."

He flicks the butt on the ground and carefully pulls another from my case. I hold out my lighter next and flick it on, forcing the man to lean forward to light the cigarette. He holds eye contact, even as he leans back to the brickwork, drawing in a smoky breath. How can a crying bloke have such a searing gaze?

"Mind if I join you for a while?" I ask, gesturing to the wall next to the man. He shakes his head, waving his hand limply in a 'go ahead' way. I settle my back to the wall, leaving only enough space that our elbows aren't touching but they would be with the slightest shift. The stranger wipes his cheeks as I move, as if he's hoping I won't have noticed. I'm not that blind, but I'm also not dumb enough to bring it up. If I had 5p for every time someone asked some variation of 'you alright, mate?' I'd have a library wing named after Fred.

Or maybe just a bench somewhere in Devon. 

"I'm Harry," he says, not looking at me.

"Well, I had my suspicions, but unlike all the other blokes here, you're wearing a shirt, so I couldn't be sure. That's good to know, though. Good to get these thing out in the open so it won't be a surprise later. Don't worry, I pulled a Greek guy when I was passing through Tunis two years ago, and I guarantee you have nothing on him. I strongly suspect he was part yeti."

He snorts and casts his eyes back to me. I take the opportunity to wink at him. God, it's been a long time since I tried to flirt properly. In English, anyway.

"Sorry, you probably get that all the time," I say, feeling incredibly stupid. Am I blushing? Bloody hell.

"No, I don't, actually," Harry says, turning to me keeping his shoulder pressed to the wall. He has a wicked glint in his eye. "Pardon the constructive criticism, but that wasn't exactly smooth."

"Neither is your back, from the sound of it." I've never been one to back away from a joke. Even at the risk of drowning. It's a curse.

He laughs out at that. I can't help but smile. I like making people laugh. It's so hard to do sometimes with a language barrier. It's definitely a positive in the mind map of returning to the UK.

He holds out his hand, which I take without hesitation. "My _name_ is Harry Potter."

"George. Weasley."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Harry says.

"Hopefully that isn't the only pleasure of the night," I say, waggling my eyebrows shamelessly. God it's been a while. I might as well start grunting and pointing like a caveman. That's what happened in Latvia.

He laughs. Bless him, poor lamb.

"It sounds like you get out about as much as I do," Harry chuckles, taking a deep drag of his cigarette.

"Did the button up give that away? Or was it the jeans without holes?"

"Actually, it was the distinct lack of body glitter."

"Mmm, not since 2004, personally. You?" I ask, turning on my shoulder to face him. His eyes are so bright. We're so close I can see the faint outline of his contacts.

"Never. What happened in '04?" Harry asks, turning his head to avoid blowing smoke in my face.

"My sister's eighth birthday party. My great Aunt Muriel thought she wasn't girly enough and some other old person must have told her roll-on body glitter was all the rage. We had a laugh covering me head to toe in it. I smelled like a tramp, and did you know glitter is like matter? It can't be created or destroyed. If you look close, I probably still have some on me."

"Well, if you're worried, I could arrange a thorough inspection," Harry says in a sultry voice, grazing the back of his hand along my bicep.

"Smooth, Potter," I say approvingly.

"OH. MY. GOD! Are you Ed Sheeran?!?!"

Pukey McGee and her friends seem to have recovered and chosen to accost the only ginger in sight, unknowingly ruining my moment with Harry.

"Whoa, ladies. Not so loud," I say, motioning with my hands for them to keep their voices down, while looking back and forth over the crowd of smokers like I'm expecting paparazzi to explode out of the bins in the alley. "I'm just trying to have a quiet night with my mate."

"OMG! I can't believe this is happening! Brittany, where's Brittany? BRITTANY! Get over here! I'm so sorry. Brittany has my mobile," Pukey says, touching my arm clumsily where Harry's hand had just been. I knew which one I preferred.

Harry muttered under his breath as the six women unceremoniously pushed him out of the way to crowd me for a selfie. I try to mimic the sort of shy-confident humility that I associate with Mr. Sheeran as the pictures are taken, but I think I'm smirking too wickedly to pull it off when I hear Harry mutter "fucking hell" off to my right.

"No one is going to believe this! My sister is going to be so jealous. Ah, thank you, thank you! I absolutely love you!" Pukey says, and her friends giggle and chatter along. Brittany is standing a step away eyeing me suspiciously. Brittany knows what's up. I wink at her, and she smiles rolling her eyes. It must be tough being the sober friend. That was never me, so I wouldn't know.

"OMG, could you sing for us?! Your second album was my fav, but I'd pay to hear you sing the alphabet! You're brilliant."

"Can I get your autograph?"

"Can we buy you a drink?"

"Come party with us!"

The chattering surges, and the other smokers are starting to watch us.

"Sorry, ladies. Not tonight. Like I said, just trying to have a quiet night," I say trying to put a stop to them.

"Where's your wife?" Brittany asks. Her friends all deflate suddenly at the reminder of that little detail. I didn't even know that detail. Good on Ed, I guess. "Women usually love gay clubs. I imagine it's fun to watch your man get hit on by other men for a change."

"Oh, yeah. She's my best wing man. But alas, I just have Harry here." I move back to his side and throw my arm over his shoulders.

The drunk five start chattering about how much they love Ed's wife. It'd be more convincing if they didn't all seem to have a case of sour grapes. Brittany just quirks her eyebrow.

"I'm so silly, I've completely forgotten what her name is," Brittany says, with a fake laugh.

The drunk five violently turn on her to shout out "It's Cherry!"

"Oh, I just call her my beard," I say after a beat.

Her friends are oblivious to the joke, but at least I've gotten a real laugh from both Brittany and Harry. I'm on fire tonight. Maybe I was too harsh on Scotland.

Brittany manages to shuffle the drunk five away. It's just me and Harry against the brickwork, even if some of the other smokers are still eyeing us, confused.

"You don't look anything like Ed Sheeran," Harry says after a moment.

"I know! That's the fifth time tonight someone's asked me, though. Figured it might be fun. Steer into the skid, right?" Damn Tommy and his Americisms.

"I don't know, I can't imagine Ed Sheeran with a beard as full as this. He doesn't seem like the kind that could go full lumberjack," Harry says, tugging lightly on my whiskers.

"I prefer the term fisherman chic, thanks," I reply dryly. I'm trying to resist the urge to shudder. Harry's gotten hotter in the last five minutes. I'm sure of it.

"You've gotten hotter in the last five minutes."

Harry laughs again. "I'll take your word for it. Wait! What time is it?"

I pull out my phone to check. It's 12:03 am.

"That must be it. It's my birthday," Harry says. "Everyone in Scotland is hotter on their birthday. The SNP wrote it into law in the 80s."

"OMG! Happy Birthday!" I say, imitating Pukey McGee's enthusiasm, and wrapping him in a quick, jumpy-style hug. Harry blushes and pushes me back with a laugh.

"Calm down. I'm just a simple man trying to have a quiet night," Harry parrots back to me.

"But in all sincerity, it's my honour to be the first to wish you well on this most auspicious day!" I top it off with a little bow.

Harry just shakes his head, fighting the smile on his face.

We're back to leaning on the wall. We're facing each other, standing so close now. He's searching my face. His eyes are mesmerising. It's been so long. I'm thinking of leaning in for a kiss.

"Do you want to come home with me?"

I'm frozen. Just for a moment. I wasn't expecting _him_ to ask.

"Sorry, that was so sudden. Bloody fucking hell, where's Cherry when I need a wingman?" Harry mutters rubbing his face with both hands in embarrassment. I'm laughing out when I grab his wrists and pull them away from his face.

"That would be lovely, Harry."

"Really?" he says, incredulous. Like he doesn't realise how gorgeous he is. Like he can't see that there's no way either of us would be able (or want) to bugger these happy, spandex, glitter people flittering all around us.

"'Course," I say, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like he's asked if I want vinegar with my fish and chips. "Do you want another drink first or anything? For your birthday?"

"No, I'll be alright." Harry straightens up and starts leading me down the street.

"Are you sure?" I ask. "I think I saw one that has breakfast cereal in it. Before, you ask, yes. It was pink and looked revolting and oddly delicious."

"Mmm, tempting, but pass. It's a bit much in there tonight. I haven't ever been one to participate in the theme nights here, but this one's a bit over the top. Besides, I've got whisky back at mine. And G&T, if that doesn't suit," he says, turning to face me again.

I make a point of raking my eyes slowly over his figure before replying. "You're a bit of alright, Harry."

"Wait. Before we go, I guess there's one thing," Harry says. He looks uncomfortable now. Completely opposite of when he asked me point blank to come home with him not one minute ago. "Will you...stay for breakfast?"

I smile at him. "Yeah. I think I'd like that."

We walk on, shoulders brushing occasionally. Harry leads a steady stream of chat as we walk. Apparently the theme night was 'San Francisco,' which honestly confuses me even more. How is that a theme? And how did an American city translate into a spandexy glitter parade in the minds of so many Scottish youths?

Harry makes an attempt at getting to know each other even though he knows he's already hit a six. He grew up in London, but finished his A-levels in Edinburgh. He's a scene examiner with Police Scotland in Edinburgh. He studied forensics in Glasgow at GCU, and a family friend helped get him in contact with the right people at the crime lab here after he graduated. He's been back in Edinburgh for more than a year.

I tell him I grew up outside of Exeter, but I've been travelling doing commercial fishing for the last two and a half years. I tell him about Iceland since I've just come from there, and all the stories I have of Sigridur keeping her boarders in line, and some of the antics I've witnessed at sea. I mention the places I've been - The Netherlands, Denmark, Poland, Latvia, Germany, Spain, Tunisia, the very short-lived stint in Turkey, Iceland, and finally Scotland. Harry is so easy to talk to. I'm not sure if we've been walking for five minutes or an hour when he unlocks his door. I've learned too much for it to have only been five minutes.

What I don't know is why his door is so bright. Even in the dim light from the street lamps I can see the door is bubblegum pink at the top and it fades to purple at the bottom. Thin, black flourishes spell out 'The Lupins' just above the letterbox.

It's a historic building - worn, but well maintained. He shares a wall with his neighbour to the right, whose door is a nondescript navy blue, framed by two potted plants. We're close to the University of Edinburgh; we crossed through the campus to get here. I toe off my trainers on Harry's cue, and he leads me down the hall past a bicycle with a child seat attached until it opens to a kitchen and sitting room. His flat is nicer than I expected. He's twenty-four, and I was expecting...smelly chaos, honestly. Maybe even flatmates playing FIFA on the sofa.

That's when I stepped on an oversized Lego.

"Shit, fucking shitballs!"

"Oh, sorry. Watch your feet. I try to keep it contained, but well...obviously not that well," Harry says with a sheepish look.

I look around and sure enough, there are kids toys littering the dimly lit sitting room. There's a booster seat at the small table in the dining room off the kitchen and bright plastic sippy cups laid out to dry next to the sink. Crayon scribbles are displayed on the refrigerator.

Does he have a kid?

"Do you have a kid?"

Harry levels me with a look, raising his hands to gesture at the room around us that quite clearly shows evidence of a child. "Yes."

I nod my head, not knowing what to say. Harry opens a high cupboard above the refrigerator and pulls down a bottle of whisky. He then pulls out a can of G&T.

"God, you were serious about that?" I laugh, walking over to sit at a stool at the kitchen island.

"Who jokes about G&T?"

"I don't know, but I feel like you should have mentioned it was from a can."

"Well, if it wasn't in a can, I assure you I would have specifically offered you a gin and tonic. I'm classy like that."

I laugh and the sound carries. "Oh, shit. Sorry," I whisper, crouching down like that'll help keep a kid asleep after my outburst. Harry's eyes narrow.

"He isn't _here._ I may not be great at this dad-thing, but I do know to get a childminder before I go out clubbing."

"Oh, right."

"Just for that, I'm rescinding my offer of G&T. You get whisky."

"Bollocks. I thought you were going to treat me right, Harrykins?" Harry just chuckles and grabs an ice tray.

"So, you have a kid," I state, hoping my face doesn't look panicked at the idea.

"Er, yeah. Teddy. He's turned two in April. Really starting to talk now. It's nice, you know. The prospect of conversation at home, even if the tantrums are a nightmare."

I don't know what to say. I can't seem to find that relentless humour Fred and I used to share that could cure any awkwardness. All I can find is word-vomit of the worst kind.

"I don't think I've ever been with a bisexual before."

Harry pauses in making our drinks. I'm once again levelled with a confused glare. "Well, not that it matters, really, but I'm gay. Like...properly gay. And isn't it sort of...what you get with bisexuals? That you don't really know? I mean, they're either attracted to you or they aren't. I guess that's the deal with anyone, really. Or do you make a point of asking? You playing bingo or something?"

"No! Sorry - I just meant.. since you have a kid and you're so young.... I guess I assumed...." I stop there with a shrug. And a wince. Maybe I should stick to pulling foreign guys who can't always tell when I've put my foot in my mouth.

"I adopted Teddy after his parents died," Harry says, before taking a pull of whisky straight from the bottle, even though two full tumblers sit in front of him. "And, no. I don't want to talk about it." He slides my drink in front of me.

I rotate the tumbler a few times, grinding it on the countertop, before raising it with a wide, plastered on smile.

"Right, then. Happy Birthday!"

Harry snorts, but clinks his glass against mine. "Cheers."

We drink in silence. Now that I looked around the low-lit room I see the framed photos of a couple in their thirties, maybe forties, holding a little bundle of newborn baby. Another of Harry and the couple, but looking even younger. Teenager, maybe even before his A-levels. There's one of the woman wearing a fancy police uniform as she shakes hands with another officer, receiving an award or something. There's another of the man (looking much younger) in graduate robes, holding a dark haired infant and flanked by a man with a goofy grin, unruly black hair, and small wire-frame glasses indicative of the 90's, and a woman with beautiful, dark auburn hair. There was a wedding photo with the couple, a teenage Harry, and a handsome man with silky black hair and a brilliant smile. His dad?

There are photos everywhere, but I only spot Harry in a few. There are also a few canvas paintings hung on the wall, like women do in groups while drinking wine. There's one in particular that draws my eye. It shows the fattest, most misshapen group of birds sitting on a branch, in silhouette, but the colours are so bright, it looks like someone went intentionally off script. It reminds me of the front door.

Shit. Are my hands shaking? He's looking at my hands. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"We don't have to if you're uncomfortable," Harry murmurs.

"That's not - No! Sorry, no - I just - urgh! I'm sorry. Honestly, I just feel like I've made a complete tit of myself," I confess, squeezing my eyes shut.

Harry laughs at that, the mischievous twinkle back in his eye when he looks at me. "Well if it makes you feel better, I have pretty low standards at the moment."

He tops off my glass and his. "Trying to get me drunk?" Harry just shrugs in response. "Alright. Just loosening up. But this'll be it for me. I don't like to drink much anymore. And no, I don't want to talk about it." I say, flashing him a playful smile. Or was it a grimace?

We start chatting again. Not about the kid, or who's house this was before, or why I don't drink, or why I've been everywhere but England in the last three years, or anything close to the reason why both of us cry silently sometimes without meaning to.

He sits next to me.

His hand is on mine, still shaking slightly.

I kiss him.

My hands stop shaking as my fingers anchor themselves in his hair.

His hand wanders to the inside of my thigh.

We chat a bit and finish our drinks.

He stands and clears our glasses.

I follow him around the island.

I snog him good and proper against the sink.

His leg slides between mine.

I palm him through his trousers.

He pulls back after a few minutes with a shaky breath.

"Sorry, sorry. Just need a little cool down. It's been a while," he says, flushed and utterly handsome with his hair scattered every which way thanks to my wandering hands.

I smirk like the devil I used to be. I lean in and press a gentle kiss below his ear. "Oh, Harrykins. This train is headed straight for hot, and there's no turning back."

I hold eye contact as I sink slowly to my knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever read something you wrote and wonder what was happening at the time because you can't quite remember but you assume you were in a weird mood? That's what this story was for me after I wrote the first three chapters and then didn't look at it for months. But then I came back to it and wrote another two chapters, and so on. I've been working on this on and off for a while, but I finally got to an ending point and decided to share it with you. It's my intention to post weekly. Please let me know what you think!


	2. The Living and The Ghosts, The Streets of Edinburgh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how it's easy to mix up your/you're, to/too, there/their/they're? I make my mistakes with these, like everyone, but the one I struggle with the most is passed/past. I don't hear people mention this one very much, but every time I type passed, I immediately backspace and type past, then revert to passed, then google the rule, say "fuck! it's a preposition!" and then dejectedly type past. I have a problem. 
> 
> Posted November 8th, 4,570 words.

An alarm is blaring.

The warm body draped over me rolls over to stop the noise. Harry groans laying his arm over his eyes for a moment.

"I agree," I grumble.

We lay in silence for a few minutes. Not quite ready for the day.

"What's the time?"

"It's half eight. Teddy'll probably be back around nine." Harry sits up with a sigh, pulling on a shirt and joggers. "I'm going to start on breakfast. Any preferences? Bear in mind I'm pretty sure I can only do variations of eggs and toast at the mo."

"Oooo. Surprise me," I say, sitting up and casting around for my clothes. As far as one night stands go, this one will be memorable. Not in a crazy, whirlwind, passionate kind of way, where I leave without my pants because I can't find them even after tearing apart a room and I'm left to wonder if they combusted in the heat of the moment. No, this was more of a simmering, desperate, yet comforting kind of experience. It was good. More than. Not, like, best sex ever, but better than Reykjavik. And way better than Amsterdam. Not Cartagena, though, but that man was filthy. In the best and worst ways.

I'd definitely go again. Stupid kids. Always ruining good things.

Fully clothed, but still thoroughly mussed, I emerge into the kitchen. Harry settles a cup of coffee in front of me as soon as I sit down. Bless him.

"Bless you."

Harry smirks. "I hope you slept well."

Oh, Harrykins. Please keep giving me easy lines to flirt with you.

"Mmmmm. Quite. Someone wore me out." I waggle my eyes at him over my cup. I slide my tongue along the edge provocatively.

Harry rolls his eyes, turning back to the hob.

"I found a few sausages. Forgot we had them a few nights ago. I'm warming them up, now."

I gasp. "A sausage surprise? I take back everything I ever said about you. You do know how to treat a man."

Over the sizzling, Harry asks, "what are your plans for the day?"

"Not sure, really. Quiet day. Take a nap. Maybe explore the city. Any recommendations?"

Harry puffs out a breath as he thinks it over. "Well, there's lots of shops, pubs, and old buildings in Old Town. Museums and such, too. It's not too far from here. The castle and the cathedral are always interesting. I always liked Calton Hill, but things can get a bit crowded. If you like to golf, there's plenty of places nearby. Teddy and I will probably end up at Holyrood Park. There's enough space to spread out. I'll probably pick up some takeaway and have a little picnic with him. Might end up cycling down to Leith. Teddy loves watching the boats and birds."

"That sounds nice. Is that a typical Saturday for you two or is this a birthday treat? Get out of the way while all your friends setup the surprise party?"

"No. My coworkers brought in a cake yesterday, so party time has passed. It's just a typical Saturday for us. Have to make the most of nice weather while we have it." Harry hesitates, not looking at me when he speaks again. "You could come with us. If you want."

I freeze again. I had a nice time. Harry's easy to get along with, clearly. Is it a one night stand if you basically have a date after? Can you have a date with a two year old? Wait, that sounded wrong. Can you have a date with a twenty-four year old if his two year old is also there?

"Harry, I..."

"It's fine. Just an offer," he rushes to answer.

"It's not that I don't want to. I just.... Did I mention I'm only here for a few days?" I say slowly. Harry sets a plate in front of me on the kitchen island. "I'm heading up to Fraserburgh for the rest of the season. I won't really be able to stay in contact, you know. It's a good four or five hours from here. It won't be permanent, either. I'll be off somewhere else in another few months, probably."

Harry swallows his toast before answering. "I know what this is, George. I wasn't asking you to move in or be my boyfriend. I'm not mental. I'm just saying, I had a nice time last night. We could maybe do that again. Sometime. Or not. It could just be friends. You and me.... You're good company."

I am saved from answering by a knock on the door.

"That'll be Mrs. Sprout with Teddy," Harry says, groaning as he stretches. "Back to the trenches, I guess."

I watch him walk to the door, jogging the last few steps as a second knock sounds. He takes a deep breath and I can see, even from behind, the overenthusiastic smile he's plastered on.

"TEDDY!" he cries, picking up a now giggling, squirmy toddler. The shrieks are more effective than coffee for waking me up. Harry tickles his sides lightly. The woman in the doorway chuckles along. She's short and plump, but with a kind face. Her short, curly hair is gray, with streaks of white and black. She's wearing worn jeans and a light, long-sleeved, floral shirt. Dirt clings to her in patches on her knees, wrists, trainers, and even a spot on her cheek and forehead.

"The little man was up bright and early as you predicted, Harry. I hope you don't mind, but I had him help me in the garden, again. Here. We've brought you a few tomatoes. Young Mr. Lupin has an eye for the ripe ones!"

"Well, he is going through a red phase at the moment, so I'm not surprised," Harry laughs out. Teddy is set on his hip, but he's squirming to get down. Harry has a tight hold, though and I can see why. The kid is covered in dirt. "Well, thank you again, Mrs. Sprout. I really appreciate you watching him. Are you sure I can't pay you or do something in return?"

She waves him off. "Nonsense, my dear. My grandchildren don't visit enough, so I have to get my love out somewhere in between otherwise it'll overwhelm them next visit. And don't forget, you're set to water my plants and feed the fish while I'm on holiday, so we'll be even."

"I'd hardly compare childminding to plant minding, but yes, I remember. Thanks again."

"I hope you had an enjoyable evening, Harry," she says, shamelessly eyeing me from the door. Her eyes bug a little wide and her smile brightens. I can see Harry blush bright as he's trying to close the door. I hear her stage whisper, "My, but he's _very handsome_."

"Er... yes. Right...very good to see you, Mrs. Sprout. Bye now!" Harry says, glowing red and clearly flustered. He nearly slams the door on her trying to make his escape. I hear her cackle on the other side. Fred would've loved her.

"Alright, you. Bath time," Harry says brightly to the toddler on his hip.

"NO!"

\--**--**--**--

I don't know why I've stayed. Bath time was clearly my opportunity to slip away. Why am I still here?

_Go for it, Georgie._

I love and hate when Fred talks to me. It is most decidedly Fred that says these things to me. I know we were identical. I know my family had trouble telling us apart. We didn't help matters by always trying to confuse them by switching. We never gave them a break. My siblings might say it was something in our eyebrow movements or the set of our lips, or the stray freckle on Fred's ear or some other little observation they used to identify us. I always rather thought it was our voices. No matter how much we'd practice, I was never good at imitating him. Fred was so much more outgoing. A showman. He took just a little more delight in his teasing. I can tell when it's his voice in my head, not mine.

Go for what, though, Fred? A jaunt in the park with a guy I've just fucked and his son? It'll be awkward. It's not like it'll come to anything.

_It doesn't have to. I just think you could use the company._

_Plus, I like him._

Of course you do.

No. This is ridiculous. I'm not doing this. I'm leaving before this gets awkward and ruins the memory of a good night.

_Why worry about one memory when he's basically offered to replace it with a better one? Don't be a moron. Think with little Gideon every once in a while. God knows little Fabian led me to some of the best nights of my life. Best mornings, too. Afternoons, prevenings...._

No. Just no.

"No what?" Harry asks, emerging from upstairs holding Teddy's dirty clothes. The slapping of little feet echo down as Teddy runs around upstairs, giggling.

"Nothing!" God, have I been talking out loud? "I was just, er, checking my mobile. I should probably head out, though. Leave you to your day."

"Oh. Right. Well, the offer stands if you want to join us. We'll probably be up to something similar tomorrow, too," Harry says. His face is set back to normal now that Teddy is out of sight. He's doing exactly what I couldn't do: put on a face that says you're doing alright for the sake of your family even though you aren't.

That's hard to watch.

The sound of something falling over followed by a peel of giggles drifts down the stairs.

"I should go," I say, pointing my thumb over my shoulder to reinforce the words.

"Wait!" Harry surges forward. He picks up a pen and searches for a piece of paper. He writes down his name and number on a small, black and yellow striped note pad that's shaped like a bumblebee. "Here's my number. If you're ever passing through and fancy a drink or... you know... well, if you give me some notice I can probably find a minder for Teddy. And I imagine Fraserburgh isn't the most exciting place. I'm always up for a chat."

I don't know why I do it. Maybe Fred's ‘ _go for it, Georgie’_ is still rattling around in my brain. Maybe he's momentarily taken control of my body, like some sci-fi, chick flick crossover. I close the distance between us and kiss him again. It's searing, intense, and over too quickly.

"Bye, Harry." 

"Bye."

I walk out, but as I turn to close the door I see Harry, standing dejected in his kitchen. He looks every bit as hopelessly resigned as he did last night before I talked to him. I can't watch.

I'm walking down the street trying to remember how I get back to the hotel. Fred and I are sparring in my head.

Wouldn't you know, we've both concluded I'm a stubborn, selfish git.

I turn on my mobile, giving up on trying to find the place without sat nav. A reply message from Sigridur is waiting for me.

**_Sigridur:_ ** _Well I wouldn't want to jinx it, but he is helping the boys fix Arnar's fence this morning. If Scotland continues to be shit, you must come back._

**_George:_ ** _I might have spoken too soon. It isn't so bad after all._

**_Sigridur:_ ** _Tell me about him._

**_George:_ ** _I don't know what you mean._

**_Sigridur:_ ** _Don't be coy. It isn't a good look for you._

**_George:_ ** _Everything looks good on me._

**_Sigridur:_ ** _Yes, but something tells me your man prefers you in less. Now, tell me about him._

**_George:_ ** _That he did ;) Not much to tell, honestly. He was good company._

**_Sigridur:_ ** _Are you going to see him again?_

**_George:_ ** _He gave me his number, but that would be weird, right?_

**_Sigridur:_ ** _No. You should call him._

**_George:_ ** _It'll be weird._

**_Sigridur:_ ** _None of your excuses. You must call him._

**_George:_ ** _I'll think about it._

**_Sigridur:_ ** _CALL HIM!!!_

I do think about it. I shower, dress, then lay out on my bed. I'm waiting for my mobile to recharge a bit.

I have nothing to do.

I put Harry's number in my contacts.

I put the bumblebee note back in my wallet.

I'm such a goner.

I look up some of the places Harry suggested I check out. I've decided not to go to any of them for fear of running into them and giving Harry the wrong idea.

I'm antsy, so I decide to just wing it.

And by wing it, I mean head directly where Harry said he would be. Holyrood Park.

In my head, Fred is making fun of me mercilessly.

 _"Oh, why Harry dear! I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you meant... the_ other _Holyrood Park. So silly of me." No, I think you'll have to work on the delivery._

 _Maybe try, "Harry! Thank god you're here! I was on my way to the cathedral you suggested and instead of heading towards the magnificent spire that's visible from my hotel I went in the complete opposite direction to this open hillside and now I'm terribly lost and in need of a place to confess my sins because, as you well know, I've been a_ naughty _boy."_

_Or how about, "Harry, old boy! Positively corking to see you out and about. Clearly the fates have designed this meeting, so we simply must return to your flat, set your son to sleep with a little help from cough syrup, then fuck in perpetuity!"_

_Something like that, Georgie. Or you could just fucking text him._

No! Just no.

I let my feet carry me to a small courtyard a few streets away and flop down on a bench. I pull out my mobile for what must be the twelfth time. After several failed attempts, a text is sent off to Harry. Followed immediately by another text along with a few choice expletives directed at myself. I shove the offending device in my pocket and quietly stew. I don't have to wait long for a reply.

**_George:_ ** _The hotel recommended the Royal Botanic Gardens. I notice it didn't make your list. Does that mean it's shit?_

**_George:_ ** _It's George, btw._

**_Harry:_ ** _Slipped my mind. It's definitely not shit. We love it there. I also forgot to mention the Edinburgh Zoo._

**_Harry:_ ** _They used to have gay penguins._

**_Harry:_ ** _They aren’t all gay, it was just one pair._

**_Harry:_ ** _And they weren't_ _like on a special display. It’s just a fun fact._

**_Harry:_ ** _They raised a baby penguin together._

**_Harry:_ ** _*fun fact #2._

**_Harry:_ ** _One of them died, tho. Fact #3, but it's not fun._

**_Harry:_ ** _You know what, forget I mentioned it. It's not important._

**_Harry:_ ** _I'm glad you texted._

**_George:_ ** _LOL. I'm glad I didn't miss out on that exchange. How is the park? Nice day for it._

**_Harry:_ ** _Wouldn't know. Haven't left yet. Teddy is going thru a phase where he doesn't want to wear clothes._

**_George:_ ** _Aren't we all?_

**_Harry:_ ** _Ha. I wish. I'd be more okay with it if he was toilet trained._

**_George:_ ** _I don't know what to say to that._

**_Harry:_ ** _I'd rather not think about it either. But it's all cleaned up now and we are finally ready to leave. Heading to get takeaway from Hagrid's Hut. It's close to the campus. If you fancy joining us, we’ll be there in 15 minutes._

Well, I am rather hungry....

I pull up sat nav and look up the restaurant. Fred is cheering and jumping for joy. I try to calm him down, even as I set off in the right direction.

\--**--**--**--

This is a weird date.

Is it a date?

It's not a date.

No, he keeps giving me that look. It's a date.

A very weird, but good date.

I'm playing fetch with a toddler. Just roll this foam ball that's just a bit larger than a tennis ball and Teddy will chase it down and bring it back. Kids can be so easy to please sometimes.

Harry is stretched out on the blanket next to me, still snacking occasionally on the chips he got with his sandwich. They've gone cold and a bit soggy at this point, but they still smell and taste delicious. I likely wouldn't have given Hagrid's Hut a second glance if not for Harry, but it was surprisingly good. And super cheap. The man literally filled Harry's giant thermos with his specialty blend iced tea for the price of a small glass. Good stuff. I'll take his word for it that a spot of whisky really rounds out the flavours.

Teddy's finally gotten bored of playing fetch and is attempting to dribble the ball.

"He's got his mum's coordination," Harry chuckles darkly as Teddy trips. Little champ gets right back up without fuss. Harry doesn't even flinch. Must be a regular occurrence. "I say that like he ever stood a chance. Remus wasn't much better."

"Dunno. All toddlers are clumsy, aren't they? He may surprise you," I comment, just to keep the conversation flowing. Teddy falls in a spectacular twisting after failing to kick the ball in front of him and lands on his bum with a jolt. His eyes flash wide in surprise and then he's back up, chattering again.

"I think I'll save us the sport fees and get him music lessons or something."

"Might be for the best."

There is no one near us. Harry has one arm behind his head and his eyes are closed behind his sunglasses. His other arm is stretched out, and I lean back to put my head on his stomach. Teddy runs in circles around the quilt, playing with his ball. Absently, Harry puts his free hand on my chest. I take his hand in mine and we stay there, listening to Teddy's progress and just rest.

"I didn't notice this last night," I comment, tracing my finger along the tattoo on the inside of Harry's wrist. "I like it."

"Thanks."

"Which constellation is it?"

"You're supposed to be the intrepid sailor. Aren't star charts part of that? Or were you lying to impress me?"

I laugh out at that. "Do you really think fisherman is an impressive thing? It's all sweaty, smelly, wet, and gross. There is nothing sexy about fishing."

"It did the trick last night," Harry comments mildly.

"Every once in a while I make a fine catch," I quip. My head bounces a bit as Harry chuckles. I blush a bit despite myself. "Okay, out with it. What's this tattoo all about?"

"It's canis major." Harry lets out a sigh. "I got it after my dad passed. He was named after this star here. Sirius." He points to the star marking the breastbone of the dog.

I don't say anything. I'm not wanting to be rude, but if I was good at dealing with grief I wouldn't be here.

"It'll be eight years on Tuesday that he's been gone." Harry adds quietly. I squeeze his hand in what I hope is a comforting way. He squeezes back and I hope that means I’ve helped.

Teddy stands over Harry, suddenly shadowing us from the sunlight and holding a small bouquet of weeds. “Look!”

“Ah, thanks bud,” Harry says taking his hand away from mine to take the bouquet. Teddy sits, squeezing himself between my head and Harry’s armpit. Harry takes my hand again, this time wrapping Teddy into the embrace. Teddy chatters away, not that it is any comprehensible story, but it must make some sense to Harry because he laughs at the right moments. A butterfly flutters past, and Teddy is suddenly squirming to be free of Harry’s arm again.

“Not too far,” Harry calls, raising his head to track the boy.

We lay in silence, soaking up the sun.

“I’ve thought about getting another tattoo. For Remus and Tonks,” he says quietly. His tone seems light, but it’s strained. “Teddy’s parents. But I can’t figure out what would be appropriate. I was quite drunk when this happened,” he says, twitching his wrist. “I don’t remember asking for it. I’m lucky I didn’t end up with something awful, though Dad would have gotten a kick out of that. It’s silly to think some drawing on my skin helps keep him close, but it does. I started texting some of my friends back in London after that, made an effort in school, applied for Uni, started playing football again, made a few friends here in Edinburgh - ones that weren't partiers, at least. Tonks was furious about the tattoo, though. I was still underage and she was a Detective Sergeant here in Edinburgh. Bloody well interrogated me about where I’d gone so she could send some officers over to give a caution.”

“Did she break you?”

Harry chuckles. “No, but that was mostly because I couldn’t remember where I’d gone. I can say with certainty that is the drunkest I’ve ever been.”

“Grief does that, I guess. I thought Fred and I had some wild nights, but then he died and I was hospitalised three times for alcohol poisoning.” I stiffen at the admission. I never mention Fred so freely. I make to sit up, but Harry gently, yet firmly holds me still.

“I wanted to when they died, but I had Teddy. Everything got upended. Again. I had to keep it together for him. Make sure the adoption went through. I'd never forgive myself if he ended up with a different family when his parents asked me to look after him. I had new appreciation for what my dad went through after my parents died. The similarities in mine and Teddy’s lives is almost poetic. Our parents both died when we were toddlers. I was 15 months and Teddy was 18 months. We were both adopted by our dad’s single best friend. The only difference is that my dad had a whole village of people to help him, including Remus and Tonks, and Teddy doesn’t have that because the village has died out. We’re the last two.”

“Don’t let Mrs. Sprout hear you say that.” Thank God he laughs at this. Since Fred died I've struggled with the line between good-natured banter and being insensitive.

“She probably has with how much she eavesdrops, but I doubt that would deter her. She is always trying to chat over the fence in the back garden. She did help me a lot in the beginning. Tonks had given her a key at some point, and in the days after the accident I’d find her cooking dinner, tidying the flat, doing laundry, or restocking the cupboards. I still feel a bit bad about demanding the key back, but not enough to actually give her a key again.”

“Sounds like there’s more to that story.”

“There is,” he says, but doesn't make to expand. He swallows a lump in his throat - a sure sign of an embarrassing story.

“Oh, Harry,” I say, rolling over to look at him with my devil face. “It’s too late to play coy.”

“Fine. I had Teddy down for a nap, so I took a shower, and I am the sort that likes to get all my washing up done at once, so I shower, brush my teeth, and all that stuff, then hang up my towel before I leave. It’s more efficient that way, not going back and forth from the bathroom. But I get back to my room, starkers, and she’s changing my sheets.”

“Brilliant!”

“No! Not brilliant. I thought I was alone! I was mortified. I just ended up yelling ‘BOUNDARIES’ at her, like five times whilst covering my privates with just my hands. She didn’t even bat an eye, just kept working on the sheets. Once I got a robe on, I demanded the key. I told her I appreciated her help, but it had gone too far. She was all like ‘oh, nonsense, dear,’ but I wasn’t having it. She left her keys on the counter, so I unclipped it and never gave it back.”

"Are you sure there's no one else in this village? You aren't overlooking anyone?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Pretty sure. Mrs. Sprout is great, but I'd rather keep her as a friendly neighbour than pseudo-grandmother," Harry says with a grimace. "Hagrid is good to us, too. He's always busy with the Hut and he has crazy friends. It's not the same as being friends, I think, but he's always there if I need a pick me up. My coworkers are friendly, but none of the ones close to my age have kids. I miss out on a lot because they're always meeting up at the pub after work, but I have to pick up Teddy. And honestly, alcohol usually just makes me tired. I've got Teddy for that, so I don't need the extra help."

"What about school friends?" I pry.

"I haven't done well keeping up with them, honestly. My best friend from London, Neville, I haven't seen since summer before my second year of Uni. I used to text him a lot. Especially after dad died and I had to move in with Remus and Tonks here in Edinburgh. Our conversations are pretty much restricted to birthdays and holidays now. I made some friends at Uni, but most were people my boyfriend at the time introduced me to, and none of them seemed to pick me in the breakup. I got offered a job in Glasgow, but there's a reason I chose to come back to Edinburgh. And as you can guess from the tattoo incident, my friends here were mostly partiers and I haven't kept in touch."

"Sounds like my A-level experience."

"Yours and everyone else. Though mine was grief-driven whereas everyone else seemed to be driven by independence or celebration," Harry quips before calling out. "TEDDY! Do not feed that bunny!"

The boy in question turns back to face us as a hare skips away in the grass. Teddy breaths a few heavy breaths, chin wobbling as his eyes harden, before bursting into a spectacular tantrum. His cries of "BUT I WANT BUNNY!" are repeated so many times it will likely feature in a dream. Or nightmare.

Twenty minutes later, it's as if nothing happened as we walk back down to the bike rack. The picnic is neatly packed away in Harry's backpack.

"Did you want to come with us to Leith? I've got another bike you can use if we stop by the house," Harry offers.

I apparently can't say no to this man.

I haven't had such a relaxed day in a while. I'm great company, but I've tended toward lazy days off and keeping to myself. I am not lonely, though. That's what I tell myself. I have Fred when I need him. I can text people like Sigridur and Tommy. Soon enough I'll have the crew. Then in a few months, I'll have a different crew. Then another.

As Harry and I work around each other in his kitchen that evening, making dinner for three, I think maybe this little slice of domesticity is just something I'll have to indulge every few years. Just a little taste to tide me over. One day doesn't mean much, after all. Right?


	3. I Want to be a Christian?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted November 11th, 4,060 words.

August arrives in a spectacular heat wave. When Harry shifts to get up, his skin pulls against mine with a crisp sticky sound, like velcro. I'm not sure if it's the sound or the sensation that wakes me, but I am glad not to miss the sight he presents. The early morning sunlight dances off his wild bed hair and his edges all seem to blur, making him glow ethereally. He wipes his cheek where it had been resting against my shoulder, both are slick with sweat, then sends me a lopsided smirk that makes my pulse quicken.

"Morning," he says, yawning wide.

I can't help but yawn, too. I take advantage and stretch fully, my muscles shake and an involuntary groan escapes.

"What's your plan today?" I ask.

"Breakfast, then church, then whatever we want."

I do a double take. "Church? Really?"

Harry chuckles. "Yeah, why? Do I not seem like the sort for it?"

I blush and mentally kick myself. No one likes discussing religion or politics. Especially not in the nip. "I hadn't thought too hard on it, honestly. I guess it's not that surprising."

"Very diplomatic answer, Mr. Weasley," he teases and I roll my eyes.

"So, er, what denomination are you?" I ask, hoping that taking interest will help.

"Haven't the foggiest." He lays back on the bed, facing me, head propped up by his elbow.

"Wait, what?"

"It's in the name but I can't remember. It's Saint...something," Harry says with a flippant wave.

"Oh, that narrows it down."

"Give me a break. It's the one three blocks from here. It's stone with a bell and a cross, and the pews have cushions unlike Saint Uncomfortable two blocks the other way from here. It's also infinitely better than Saint Stuffy's over by Hagrid's."

I disregard the borderline blasphemy of Harry's response. "Why do you go if you don't even know what kind of church it is?"

"Three words, George: Free. Child. Care," he states reverently. "A whole hour to day dream and breath deep with a spot of music and a shot of wine, all while knowing some nice, old lady is teaching my son about morals in the basement. Totally worth having a set of church clothes for the both of us and slipping a tenner in the collection box."

"It's not free child care if you slip them a tenner."

"It's a donation, not a payment," he corrects, hotly. "I'm praying he'll miraculously come out of there completely potty trained one of these days." Harry clasps his hands dramatically, closes his eyes and whispers, "Please, Heavenly Father, God, Jesus, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, and anyone else listening: Cadbury Buttons, Tesco nappies, and Dettol have already received enough money from me. Give us a break and teach my kid to piss and shit in the bog already. Yours, desperately and respectfully, Harry Potter. Oh, and uh ... Amen."

I can't help but laugh at his antics, especially after witnessing the kid take him for at least ten chocolate buttons last night before pissing in a potted plant next to the telly. Harry and I had a nice debate over whether that was a sign of progress or not. "Alright, alright. When does this fresh monotony begin?"

Harry leans in and kisses me lightly. "Eleven."

I flop back in a show of exasperation, pulling an arm over my eyes, eliciting another chuckle from the man beside me. He tries to drag my arm away, but I hold firm.

"Oh, is that how it is?" he asks, and I nod petulantly.

I can hear the faint wet crackling of his lips pulling up into a smirk. He swings his leg over my hips and sits on my stomach. In doing so, the sheets slip down and we're both exposed fully to the warm, muggy air. I lift my arm a smidge to take in the sight of him. He's smirking as he reaches his hand back to fondle me.

"Let's see if I can change your mind."

My mind is well on its way somewhere when I suddenly remember we aren't alone this morning.

"Wait! What about Teddy?" I try to sit up, nearly dislodging Harry, but he pushes me back firmly.

"We have 25 minutes before I usually wake him, which means we only have 15 minutes to get off if I want a shower. Which I do, so stop faffing."

I did stop faffing and it was glorious.

But all too soon, Harry is in the shower and I am pulling on my clothes from yesterday. I pad into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I have just managed to pull the eggs and rashers of bacon from the fridge, locate the frying pan and cooking utensils - _what sort of monster keeps them in a drawer?_ \- when hurried footsteps sound on the stairs. Harry, hair wet and wearing nothing at all, halts at the bottom of the stairs when he catches sight of me. His face looks strained with his brows furrowed, but that falls away when his eyes lock on mine.

I give him a puzzled look. "All right?"

"I thought you might have left," he says, panting slightly and taking a few steps towards me. He doesn't make any effort to cover himself. He leans his hands on the kitchen island, facing me, eyes still locked on mine.

"No. I figured it was a standing request," I say, smiling at him sheepishly. His brow furrows again. "That I stay for breakfast," I clarify, parroting his words from two nights ago.

"Yeah. Good. It is!" He nods and a smile quirks his lips. "That's good."

"This alright?" I ask, pointing to the spread I'm about to start cooking. "Any requests?"

"I usually scramble the eggs for Teddy. And cut up some fruit, but I'll do that in a mo. I need to get him up first." He points his thumb over his shoulder, like I might have forgotten that the kid is upstairs in a crib.

As if on cue, the faint call of a toddler drifts downstairs.

"I'll be back," he says, tapping the counter before turning for the stairs.

"And I'll be here." He shoots me a quick smile before pounding up the stairs. "And put some clothes on, why don't you! The kid doesn't need an eyeful!" I call out as he and his bum disappear. I hear some muttering that sounds like 'sod off' drift down the stairs. I chuckle to myself as I resume making breakfast.

Harry seems surprised when I pull on my trainers after breakfast and make to leave. "We've still got a bit of time yet."

"I have to head back to the hotel to freshen up," I tell him.

"Oh," he says, almost confused. "You're here until Thursday, though, right?"

"Yeah, that's right. I was planning to meet up with the new boss Friday morning. I need to find a place to stay, too. There are a few rooms for rent I was going to look at in the village on Thursday afternoon. It doesn't need much thought since I'll be gone more than I'm there, but I do like it better when I get on with the landlady."

"You should check out this morning. Bring your stuff back here. Stay until you have to leave," Harry says. "I can give you a key. You'll have the place to yourself while I'm at work. I'm sure you'd be more comfortable here than at a hotel. Saves you some money, too."

Something shifts in my chest. I instantly doubt this is a good idea, because Fred is yelling at me to 'GO FOR IT!' and to 'LISTEN TO LITTLE GIDEON, YOU PLEB!' and that can't mean anything good for my mental health. I shouldn't want to accept this offer. I'm not supposed to get attached. That's why I'm running. That's why I don't talk to my family. That's why I keep moving from crew to crew, country to country. I'm already hurting and I can't afford to hurt more.

I think it over the whole ride to the hotel, because yes, I borrowed Harry's bike again at his insistence. I think he might have learned a thing or two about manipulation from Teddy. He may act all innocent, but he knows exactly what he's doing. He's going to get what he wants, but I'm not sure what will be left for either of us after Thursday.

Despite my misgivings, I do check out. I have somehow convinced myself that I'm still in control of this situation. Little Gideon is quite happy with the arrangement, and it's still a bit too early for well-reasoned decisions on a Sunday morning. I have no complaints with the arrangement, either. Not even when sitting through the sermon, which I haven't done since my last Christmas at home. Or was it Easter? I can't remember.

Harry is right. It doesn't matter what the sign out front says. It is nice to sit and relax as a man with a nice, even, calm voice reminds me to be a good person even when things were complete shit. My heart unclenches just a bit as my voice melds with those around me and the organ as we sing familiar hymns. The shot doesn't help anything because no one actually likes church wine, but I've always been partial to the bread part of communion, anyway. It's part of my Weasley roots that I'll never outgrow. I wouldn't have missed the greeting for anything either. Harry's face turns bright red as all the church ladies descend on us to ask 'who's your little friend?' and to tell me they 'hope to see me around again' with a wink worthy of Mrs. Sprout for all their subtlety. At least this seems to be a progressive church that doesn't believe we are going to hell just for the comfort and pleasure we've been perfecting last two nights. _And this morning, wink wink._

Teddy makes a point to sit on my lap on the steps of the church as Harry speaks with a few more people. He points to the various characters on the drawing he coloured for their activity. Well, he skips over the bible characters and points to all the animals. I have to call him on his bullshit when he tries to claim there is a bunny. That is a nice little argument to have with a two year old in public. The kid sticks to his guns, and I respect that in a little man.

Our day is similar to the day before. We have a picnic lunch at the botanical gardens, then stop at the shops because even though we stopped to get bacon yesterday, Saturdays are for fun. Sundays are for grocery shopping.

Mrs. Sprout calls us over the back garden fence, hoping that Teddy can come over and help her with the gardening again. Though Harry grumbles about what a nightmare the bloody bath will be, he shuffles Teddy off and we get a chance to snog on the sofa during the daytime.

Teddy is returned just as dirty as he was the day before, but instead of hauling a screaming toddler to the bath, Harry lets him strip down and run through the sprinkler. The three of us find a rhythm in the kitchen that evening as we prepare the meal. Whatever playlist Harry set to blast out of the bluetooth speakers is eclectic and energetic and just what we need. I can't help the smile that lights my face even when Harry and Teddy disappear upstairs for the dreaded bedtime rituals.

I sneak out to the garden, which is shaded and cool now the sun has passed. I sit back in the lounger and listen to the birds chirping and fluttering, and the muffled chatter and laughter of neighbours having a barbeque a few doors down. I pull out my mobile to check Facebook and Instagram.

_'Twenty-four weeks! Molly won't stop asking when she'll get to play with baby. Chester is certainly looking forward to a break, poor thing.'_

Audrey's posted a photo of her growing baby bump, and one of little Molly hugging their cowering terrier, Chester. Percy is in the background just about to rescue the poor dog from the toddler's grip.

_'Catching up with the fam! So glad for bro-time @CharliezardWheezer'_

Charlie is pictured on a sandy beach I recognise from other photos as being close to Fleur's hometown. Baby Dom is strapped to his chest with a sun hat on. She claps as she watches the kite Charlie is flying whip around in the wind above them. Another photo shows Bill's daughter Victoria staring at the camera with a wide toothy smile, holding a seashell up to the camera. She is wearing a swimsuit with a little ruffle around the hips and holding a small plastic purple bucket in the other hand. Sand clings to her shoulder, chin, knees and shins, and foamy ocean water swirls around her feet. The last photo shows the extended Delacour family on the porch of the beach house. Charlie must have taken the photo, because Bill is the only ginger pictured.

_'You'll know it pains me to say this, but ... Go Hotspurs! GAME TIME, WOOO!' @TheHiveStadium in Canons Park_

Ron, Hermione, Mum and Dad are pictured sitting in the stands, all decked out in Tottenham gear. Dad and Ron toast beer cups at the camera. Hermione took the selfie. Mum has her arms wrapped around Dad's neck and has her chin hooked over his shoulder. They look happy.

_'SUBBED IN THE 72ND MINUTE! GO GINNY!!!!!'_

Ginny is pictured mid jump next to the fourth official at midfield as she does some last minute warm ups waiting for her team mate to walk the length of the pitch to make the exchange.

_'What an assist! My baby sister, showing them how it's done! #5thAppearance #StartHerAlready #WeasleyFanclub_

There's a photo of Ginny and her team mates posing in the corner after a goal, and another of the starting striker with her arm slung around Ginny's shoulder and a wide smile.

I click on the video link Ron posted after the match and watch Ginny sprint to intercept a lazy pass on the wing, take the ball to almost to the goal line, shake off her defender with some fancy footwork, then deliver a beautiful cross in the box, her striker easily heads down past the keeper into goal.

A last photo is posted by mum, not twenty minutes ago.

_'So proud of my baby!!! She did us proud in the first match of the season. City life may not be for us, but it's always a joy to celebrate with the kids. Love you, sweetheart!'_

Mum, Dad, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are pictured around a table at a posh restaurant in London. Wine glasses are in various states of full, and the plates, in typical Weasley fashion, are completely clear.

My heart aches a bit at what I've missed. What I am missing. But I'm glad to see they've moved on. They have found a way to be happy, and I can't help but think that's partially because I'm not around to bring them down. My mind unwillingly flashes back to the aftermath when even months later they couldn't look at me. I can't blame them. It's not like I wanted to look at myself, either.

But I also realise my parents aren't home right now. They're in London, eating dessert. Or possibly just getting onto the train to Exeter. They are rarely away from home, so this is an opportunity I can't pass up. I take a deep breath and open my contacts. I scroll down and select Home.

My thumb trembles above the icon, but I press down before I can lose my nerve.

I lean forward placing my elbows on my knees as the phone rings and rings. One hand holds the phone to my ear, and the other grips my hair. I absently play with my mangled ear using my thumb as I wait. I almost hang up as the voicemail recording plays in Dad's cheeriest voice.

"You've reached Arthur and Molly Weasley. Leave a message and we'll get back to you." _Beep!_

_Say something, idiot! Start out with a joke, that way they'll know you're okay._

I freeze. Fred is once again not helpful. It's been three years. Now is not the time for jokes.

"Uh, hi... mum...dad...and, er, everybody, I guess. It's, uh, it's George. I, er, well I," I pause and clear my throat. "I hope it's alright I've called. I've been thinking about you all a lot lately. I haven't stopped thinking about all of you, if I'm being honest, and I just wanted to let you know I'm okay." I pause again. I contemplate being a complete coward and letting this be the end, but I press on.

"I'm sorry it's been so long. I know that doesn't cut it. I've been really shitty and you deserve better. I've missed so much. Dom and little Molly being born, Ron and Ginny graduating and getting jobs. Percy's wedding. Bill's new house. Charlie's promotion. Family dinners, birthdays, holidays.... I wish I could say I was ready to come back, well, assuming you'd even have me back at this point.... I'm sorry." I take in a shaky breath. "I, uh, I'm starting a new job next week. It's just a temporary placement. I do that a lot. I like to keep moving, see new places. Meet new people. I've done a lot of things I never planned to, but it's been good for the most part.... I promise I've been taking care of myself. I've stopped drinking, for a while now. I mean, at first it was just because I ran out of money, but if you've ever been hungover and seasick at the same time, you'd understand why I didn't pick it back up again." I tried to chuckle, but it dies in my throat. I swallow audibly. "I didn't mean to be gone this long when I left. I just couldn't stand the thought of Christmas without him. As long as I could remember we'd make sure to trade our jumpers, spike the Christmas tea with salt, have massive snowball fights if we could, rearrange the Diggory's nativity scene, and set fire to the leaflets at the candle light service.... I thought I'd just skip it all that year. I thought you all might be able to enjoy yourselves a bit if I wasn't there to bring you down. I didn't want you to have to look at me. But then I started thinking about everything else that was coming up that wouldn't be the same. Setting off our homemade fireworks on New Years, making those ridiculous Valentine's cards for everyone, and sneaking in the sweary eggs on Easter. And it'd be our birthday and I'd be older than him." I cut myself off before I start crying properly. My voice has risen steadily, so I tried to soften it as I continue.

"I didn't mean to run away for so long. I thought I'd get through all those firsts by myself and then I'd be able to come back and be a part of things again, but obviously that's not how it worked. It was all just too much and I needed to get away, but I felt so much better once I was gone, and now I don't know what to do. I miss you, but I don't want to come back and be the person I was before I left. You all deserve better than that. I'm so sorry. I love you. Bye."

I rush to hang up the phone and spike it onto the damp lawn, cursing myself. I curl forward, putting my head to my elbows and wrapping my arms back around to grip the back of my skull. I press my face further into my knees to try to cut off the tears. My shaky breaths even out as I take long breaths through my nose and out my mouth. I don't know how much time has passed, and I don't hear him approach, but Harry's hands eventually find mine. He gently runs his palms down my wrists and forearms, then back up to my biceps as he crouches in front of me. I raise my head a little to look at him. He gives me that damnable knowing smile.

He cocks his head to the door, and I nod, sitting up a little straighter. Harry stands, knees cracking audibly, and holds out his hand for me. I take it, but cast my eyes around the grass in the evening light.

"I've got it here," Harry says, pulling my mobile from his pocket.

"Thanks."

I watch him putter around the kitchen from across the island. He hums a song I recognise from the dinner playlist as he puts dishes away, careful not to make too much noise. He sets two glasses on the counter and pours out the rest of Hagrid's specialty iced tea.

"Hagrid's right. Whisky really does round out the flavours." Harry's comment startles me from my thoughts. "Care for a little nip?" He offers but makes no move to retrieve the bottle from the cupboard.

"Sure. Gies a dram," I say with my best Scottish accent. Harry rolls his eyes and sets to topping off my glass.

"This'll be it for me, tonight. Work tomorrow and all," Harry states, and I nod absently.

"You're sure you don't mind me staying here while you're gone?"

"Yeah. I figure there's not much here worth nicking, and you don't seem like the sort anyway. Just be careful Mrs. Sprout doesn't pull you into anything. It's a slippery slope between a simple favour from 'a tall young man such as yourself,' to hours spent on her honey-do list."

I chuckle. "Noted. I'll probably run some errands tomorrow. I think it might be time for some new clothes."

Harry makes a face that shows exactly how he feels about shopping. "Good luck, mate."

We move back into the sitting room, turn on a movie, and pick up where we left off earlier. The tension lingering from the call slowly ebbs. I lean Harry back against the pillow propped on the armrest of the sofa. One arm is pinned under his shoulders and my other hand slips under his shirt and ghosts the flesh of his lower back and side. Harry's right hand lingers in my shaggy hair, gripping it and combing through it in turn. His thumb lightly traces my mangled ear. I stiffen and he trails his fingers along the burn scar on my neck. I pull back and search his face. I can't help that my expression has hardened. Harry returns my gaze, open and not backing down. He continues to caress the raised flesh. His other hand that was rested at my waist slips under my shirt and slowly pulls it up and over my head. I'm still searching his face, not certain how I feel about this new level of intimacy he is pushing me toward.

If he had asked me what happened, I know I would have grabbed my stuff and bolted. But he doesn't. While he continues to trace the burn scar to its terminus along my collar bone and moves to the lumpy surgical scar on my stomach, he doesn't say a word. His touch finds all the marks I've accumulated over a lifetime of living recklessly. His face doesn't hold the pity I was expecting, and maybe that makes all the difference. I relax a bit as he brings his hand up to my face again. I turn my head a bit to kiss his wrist before he pulls me back down to him.

That night, in the dark of his bedroom, condom tied off and in the bin, breathing settling back to normal, pillows beaten into place, and covers pulled up to our waists, Harry finally says his peace.

"If you ever do want to talk about it, I'm here."

I turn my head to him, only able to make out a vague outline of his nose, cheekbones, and spiky hair. "Likewise, Harry."


	4. How Did They Fit Two Giraffes On The Ark?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thanks for reading my story so far! I hope you are entertained. When I started writing this, I had zero intentions of sharing it with anyone, but I had just started a new job and I found myself having to write a lot of technical reports. Since I finished school I hadn't been called on to write much more than emails because I worked at a place that "had people for that." I was out of practice and I felt like the words couldn't connect from my brain to my fingertips, so I began writing in my free time because why the hell not? An exercise to retrain my brain ended up being something I quite enjoyed. 
> 
> As I said, I had no intentions of sharing this story with anyone, but for some reason I spent hours researching pelagic fishing in the North Sea and Europe, in general (because the best stories are accurate, didn't you know?). I looked at annual fishing reports from different governments, there were graphs involved, I wrote out notes, and it honestly took me a while to get to the point where I thought to myself, 'what the fuck are you doing?' I don't actually think I used much (if any) of that info in this story, because this is about the characters' emotional journey, not commercial fishing. So fair warning: the following depiction of pelagic fishing in the North Sea is complete fiction based off virtually no shared experience.
> 
> And if anyone is curious, I am a geologist in real life.
> 
> Chapter title from The Proclaimers song 'I'd Ask The Questions."
> 
> Posted November 15th, 4,610 words.

My balls are frozen. I fear I may never find them again. I may have to borrow Sybill's hot water bottle to coax them out. Fuck winter! It's been raining all day and night, which goes without saying since it's November in northern Scotland. Well, the North Sea off the coast of Scotland. It's only stopped two hours ago, but that's just because it finally got cold enough to actually snow. I'd appreciate the beauty of my current setting if I wasn't drench, but I am, so my mood is about as sour as it comes. My rain gear is compromised. I caught the shoulder on a piece of metal flashing in the engine room and ripped my jacket from the shoulder seam across to mid-back. The duct tape would have held better if I'd had time to dry off before putting it on. But when you're overtaxing an engine in the middle of a storm, there isn't time to waste with fixing clothes to your comfort.

So here we are, limping the trawler into port with a frigid breeze to welcome us back. I repeat my sentiments from earlier and amend them. Fuck you, Scotland, and your Norway-wannabe-poser winter. Yeah, I said it. Come at me, bro!

_Y-y-yo-ou t-tell 'em, Georgie! I've g-go-got your b-back._

God, even Fred's shivering. I guess hell froze over.

_HA! Good one._

I've already radioed back to the office about what parts we need. I haven't heard back if they were able to salvage a gasket from Fletcher's Yard. Everything else we need is pretty standard and readily available, but that gasket has been discontinued by the manufacturer, so it's a special order if not. I think it's practically criminal that they can stop making pieces of rubber in a certain shape that regularly disintegrate in the hopes you'll, what, buy a whole new trawler when you need a new one? That's not happening. What sort of fishing companies have that kind of money? None that I've worked for. But if we can't find a replacement, this crew is out of work for at least a week while we wait. And that's with a hefty fee to expedite the order.

But it's not my problem anymore. Fudge will be taking up his post as master mechanic and fisherman extraordinaire after today. _Hooray_. I've had his job for over three months while he recovers from heart surgery. I haven't found a spot on a crew in Fraserburgh or Peterhead, so it looks like I'll be packing up for the next thing. It's not a great time to be looking for a job. Once we get close enough to shore to get a signal again, I'll see if anyone of my contacts emailed back.

For how much employment I've gotten temping for fisherman or ship mechanics who're recovering from heart attacks, heart surgery, or in one case dropped dead of undiagnosed lung cancer in the middle of the Atlantic, you'd think I'd quit smoking. I'd like to. I never should have started in the first place, but it just sort of happened somewhere between Denmark and Latvia. Oh, right. Poland. That's where it started.

I made a lot of money off those guys, too, selling specialty waterproof cigarette cases. It was the first time I'd dabbled in inventing without Fred. It was a really wet, stormy spring and after the third extremely tense trip back to port when every last cigarette on the trawler was drowned in a series of unfortunate events, I had to do something. I made a bit of a name for myself, not to brag. When I got laid off at the end of the season in Germany, I did nothing but make those cases for two months. I perfected the process, found the cheapest, most durable design materials, tested different latch systems, and even made them in various sizes. I put a lot of time and care into the design. I may have had a bit too much fun with the product testing, finding the exact limit of their durability. You could argue it was the most engineering I have done with a degree under my belt, because I'm sure the University of Bristol wouldn't consider 'ship mechanic' or 'welder' as in-field employment.

But what can I say, bad timing my brother dying before I could start my internship? I was too depressed to finish my master's? Excuses, excuses.

Either way, I'm a smoker now, and I've been chain smoking for hours trying to warm up somehow. We're out of coffee and we blew a fuse, so we don't have hot water either way. So here I am, on the bow, watching the cliffs rise up on the horizon as we sail home. I wish those fuckers would just pay the fee for a tugboat to come haul us in the rest of the way. The fix I had to make on the engine means we are chugging just hard enough to fight the current and not a bit more. The crew, all normally decent enough guys, are so cheesed off they've locked me out here on the deck to freeze my balls off.

Wankers.

I raise a trembling hand to my mouth to take another drag, and a gust of wind catches the edge of the tape on my shoulder. I try to clamp it down quickly, but the chill travels straight down my back and settles in my core. I shiver violently and curse. I pull my mobile out - carefully so as not to drop it with numb fingers - and turn off airplane mode to see if we are finally close enough that I can distract myself with job offers or literally anything that isn't watching the horizon. Not that I'm wanting to continue a career at sea given how I'm feeling at the moment....

I catch sight of my reflection on the screen before the backlight comes on. I flick it off to get another look. A series of truly impressive icicles have formed in my beard. I look over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching before flicking on the camera to take a selfie. Harry will get a kick out of this.

Harry.

He doesn't know it yet, but he is the extent of my plan right now. I have enough money saved to keep renting my room, and I have plenty of requests for the cigarette cases that I could work here until another job crops up, but I feel a level of indifference for this town and this crew and the life I've been living the last three years that the thought of staying is... well, it's not going to happen.

Another gust blows the duct tape open and I shiver and curse violently again. I'm trying to decide if I'll bang on the door again to demand re-entry, when the problem is solved for me.

"Oi! George! Get in 'ere!" Ernie calls from above. Thank god.

He must have just gotten up for his shift. That means I've been stranded on the deck for nearly four hours. And it's not as if I got to sleep at all. There's no one else to relieve me, and the thanks I get is a push out the door. Ernie knows I worked a fucking miracle to even get the ship moving this much. I'd like to see Fudge do better. I think the crew would rather be dead in the water with Fudge as their mechanic than slowly making their way home only half a day behind schedule with me.

Bunch of fucking lobcocks.

I climb up the stairs and Ernie Prang opens the door to the wheelhouse for me in a blast of steam as warm air hits cold.

"Jesus, Mary 'n Marfa, mate, I fink yer turnin' blue."

The only response I can manage is a grunt. He tosses a blanket to me and doesn't say a thing as my frozen fingers fumble with my zipper. He pulls my jacket open for me and helps me out of my gear without comment. I shamelessly strip down to nothing - my clothes are so thoroughly soaked at this point I'll be warmer without - and wrap myself in the blanket and take a seat in front of a heat vent.

"Bunch of fuckin' idiots down there. Finkin' itsa good idea ta let our only mechanic get so cold 'e can' hold a wrench if we need 'im to," Ernie mutters, scratching his balding head through his faded and worn wool cap as he takes his seat behind the controls.

"F-f-fuck 'em all," I say, hating how my voice trembles with the force of my shivering. Ernie rummages through the storage compartments and finds another blanket to drape over me. It's itchy and smells of petrol, but I couldn't care less. I fall asleep in the chair cursing every last man on this boat except Ernie.

I don't stir at all until Ernie wakes me with a shake.

"Got you an 'ot chocolate," he says, holding a warm paper cup out to me. I blink until my eyes adjust. We're docked at the port and everyone is busy offloading the haul. I extricate my arms from the blanket to take the cup from him.

"Thanks, Ernie."

"You drink that down, then get yer clothes on. Fudge's 'ere to do a walk through wif you 'n the boss."

I spot them bullshitting with the crew at the end of the dock and nod slowly. I can't wait to get off this boat. Yes, boat. There's just about nothing more offensive to some fishermen than calling their trawler a boat. You can call it a trawler, a ship, a noble vessel, or pretty much anything other than a boat. It's disrespectful.

I've never had this much trouble with a crew. The stint in Turkey doesn't count. I know there were more maintenance issues in the last three months than normal, but that's what happens when you let a sixty year old, lazy alcoholic do the minimum upkeep on an old boat for the last ten years. Shit's gonna breakdown eventually, and I'm the poor sod who had to patch it up.

Three hours later I'm finally walking away from this godforsaken rust bucket after crisp handshakes from Fudge and the boss thanking me for stepping in. I've gotten some recommendations of companies to hound for a job here in Scotland, but thankfully nothing local. I finally whip out my phone to check my messages.

I swipe away email notifications about jobs - I'll worry about that later. I have twenty-seven new messages from Harry and I can't swipe the grin off my face. The man is insanely easy to talk to. And while twenty-seven may seem like a crazy number of unanswered texts, it's the highlight of my homecoming. Harry texts me as he watches football. It's so much better than reading the game highlights on sports blogs. I'm treated to a series of texts like this:

 **Harry:** Livingston v Aberdeen. A fight to see who can get the most red cards for high studs and general dickery in one match. 8 on 9 at the 56th minute.

 **Harry:** Killies v. Hibs. You can keep clearing out the back like squirrels throwing pinecones at a picnic, but it's not going to get you points. You're going down motherfucker.

 **Harry:** Suck my duck, VAR!

 **Harry:** *dick.

 **Harry:** You know what? Suck my duck and my dick. Suck my duck dick, VAR!

 **Harry:** Can we all just agree that Germany's coach looks like he's fresh off a Dyson advert?

 **Harry:** Fucking hell, Higgs, you're a professional footballer. It shouldn't be this hard to pass a fucking thru ball. It goes BETWEEN the defenders, not directly to them. And it goes IN FRONT of the striker, not behind. FML. SMH. Celtics win again.

 **Harry:** I think Hagrid might be a cabbage whisperer. Or like a gourmet chef in disguise. I've never had cabbage soup this flavourful. You're really missing out.

 **Harry:** I take back what I said last week. Moran is hot. He should keep his hair like that. It's aerodynamic.

 **Harry:** I bet 20p would bounce at least half a meter off that bum.

 **Harry:** Not to objectify the athletes. Just a hypothesis. You know, science.

 **Harry:** Do you think jelly babies are a better bribe for a toddler than chocolate buttons? Asking for a friend...

I scroll through all the texts I've received as I walk the familiar path to Ms. Trelawny's house. I've got Harry's highlights for Scottish Premiership, English Premier League, the occasional international friendly, Bundesliga or La Liga match, as well as his random thoughts and questions throughout the day.

 **George:** Land ho and two finger salute to all these fuckers. My gear ripped in the storm yesterday and it got a bit chilly. I'm off to coax little Gideon out of hibernation. Wish me luck.

 **Harry:** Consider this a perfunctory offer to help if you were but a few hours closer.

 **George:** Nice try, but it'll take more than a vague proposition to reverse this situation.

 **Harry:** Keep me updated. I have a vested interest in your progress.

Once I've pruned my lower half in the smallest bathtub in Scotland, little Gid hangs low and limp as if he's run a marathon and can't bear to take another step. I put on my lumpy wool socks, pyjamas, favourite jumper, and wrap a blanket around my shoulders before I make myself comfortable on the bed with my back to the wall and call Harry. Our first call was a spur of the moment thing when Harry decided to call back instead of text when he realised I was just in my room alone.

_"I don't see the point of texting back and forth when we are both free to chat. We can cover more this way, you know. Save our thumbs," Harry had explained._

_"Save them for what, pray tell?"_

And it had devolved into a memorable round of phone sex. Not that I have much experience in the art, but Harry has a good voice for it. But with all good things comes a caveat. Teddy interrupted one of our, _ahem,_ conversations, which had been switched over to a video chat. The kid hadn't seen anything, he just fell out of his crib trying to make a break for it and was screaming the demons away. Somehow this turned into video chats with Teddy. I make an effort now to call before bath time. Then it's up to Harry if he wants to call back to talk more after bed time, which he does more often than not.

I hit the icon to start a video call and wait for their faces to pop up. As usual, there is a blurry swirl of colour as Teddy whips the phone around in a peel of giggles, before Harry steadies the camera and I see their faces.

"GEORGE!"

"Hello there Tedrick the first!"

"Bunny bit me!" He yells, confidently waving a finger covered by a Spiderman plaster at the camera. "I hold one. So soft! Ms. Rosie kissed me." Teddy tells his stories breathily and distracted like any two and a half year old. I can usually follow along with the stories now that I've had some practice, but I get the most joy out of watching Harry's face during the exchanges.

"Oh, Tedster, that sounds like a fun day!"

"Birdie ate a chip."

"Did you feed the birds today?"

"No! It's too big!"

"Wow! I'm so jealous!"

"Why don't you tell George about what happened at Hagrid's," Harry prompts.

"I GOT A COOKIE!" 

Harry sighs and looks to the ceiling. "I know that Teddy, but tell George why."

I have no idea why. The story made no sense, but I nod and praise and bring it all back to bunnies in the end. They both laugh at the photo of me with the massive icicles in my beard. Teddy soon has enough of sitting still and chatting with me so he wriggles free of Harry's lap to play with his blocks. Harry updates me on his latest case and the water cooler gossip. Teddy occasionally pops into frame as he sets various toys in Harry's lap. I, in turn, tell him the less profane version of me getting locked out of the boat on the way into port.

"Have you figured out where you're heading next?" Harry asks before I can bring it up.

"No, I don't have a job lined up yet. I have a few emails I haven't checked, but I was going to ask if I could maybe stay with you for a few days?"

A bright smiles springs up on Harry's face. "Yeah, of course! We'd love to see you. When can you get here?"

"Well, I've paid for this room through Friday, but I was thinking of leaving tomorrow. Unless that doesn't work for you," I rush to add.

_He likes you Georgie, stop acting so nervous._

"Tomorrow would be perfect, George. I can't wait to see you. I'll leave the spare key under that loose paver, okay?"

"Got it."

"I'd better start getting him ready for bed," Harry says reluctantly. I can hear Teddy start to protest in the background. "Do you want me to call later? You look knackered."

I snort half-heartedly. "I am knackered. Unless you want to talk about something I think I'm for bed, myself."

"Yeah, yeah. Have a good night, George."

"You too, Harry. Night Tedwina!"

Teddy pops back into view waving wildly. "Night George!"

\--**--**--**--

My rucksack makes a satisfying thump against the hardwood in the entry hall at Harry's house. It's all quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator that drifts down the hall. I dart for the loo. I should have gone at the station, but I was stubborn. Imagine that.

After relieving myself and texting Harry, I grab my bag to put it upstairs, but pause outside Harry's door. Am I being presumptuous? What if he wants me to stay on the sofa or the other room?

_Don't be fucking daft, you pillock. HE. LIKES. YOU._

I shake my head and put my rucksack just inside the door. Then I decide to lug the whole thing downstairs again to do my laundry before they get home. I open the lid to the washer and immediately close it, covering my nose and mouth, swearing like a sailor and fighting the nausea.

Well, that answers the question of how well potty training is going. I brace myself, add the detergent, start the wash cycle, then track down the air freshener from the bathroom.

It just hits me that's why Teddy got a cookie at Hagrid's! He had to pee, told Harry, and got to the toilet in time, so Hagrid gave him a treat. Well, as they say, two steps forward, one set of soiled bed sheets stewing in the washer back.... Something like that.

I look through the cupboards and make a plan for dinner. Then I tidy up the sitting room and clean the upstairs bathroom. It's the least I can do. Harry always keeps the kitchen tidy, so there isn't much work to do there. I check the time nearly every five minutes. I notice a fishy smell and decide to store my gear outside, instead. I switch the laundry over, don my jacket and shoes, and head to Hagrid's with Harry's ginormous thermos.

"Well hullo, there! George, innit?" Hagrid greets me after the bell above the door signals my arrival.

"Hi Hagrid! Good memory."

"Ah, not really. Harry's been keeping me updated on all the trawler gossip. I say yer well shot of 'em."

I blush unwillingly, not knowing how to feel that Harry talks about me. I can feel Fred dancing a jig in my head. I hate when he's right.

_I'm always right, brother mine._

"Thanks Hagrid. I don't know why I had so much trouble with this crew. Just rotten timing, I guess. The engine needed maintenance more often than it didn't. Made me look incompetent to the crew."

"Codswallop. You've got a good head on yer shoulders, I can tell. But if yer lookin' for work I could talk to some of my mates. Put in a good word for ya."

"What, here in Edinburgh?" I ask.

"Yeah, 'course. My best mate Ara runs a repair shop down by the docks. Been friends since we was in school. He was just moaning the other night at bridge that he's looking for some help. He hates going through the job centre."

"Hagrid, that would be amazing. I'm definitely interested."

"Consider it done. Now, anything besides the tea?"

I stay and chat with Hagrid for another hour. He's got some great stories and talking to him sooths my nerves a bit. I confess to him that I'm nervous about seeing Harry again. I haven't had a boyfriend in years, and the last time I did I was pretty shit at it. We kept it casual. No trace of romance, but what do you expect? I wasn't the most sensitive twenty-year-old. But things with Harry already feel different. I wish I could talk to Bill or Charlie. I can't exactly call them up after all this time, brush off all that other stuff and be like, 'so there's this guy....'

"I'd better get back and switch the laundry up. Thanks for the tea and chat, Hagrid," I say, stretching as I stand.

"'Course, don't be a stranger. And about Harry - he's a good lad." Hagrid's tone becomes suddenly stern as he warns, "he needs yer friendship a lot more 'n he needs yer _boyfriendship_. Got that?"

I mull that over on my way home - I mean, to Harry's. The same could be said of me. Maybe what we have is more like an intense friendship? Maybe that's what we need from each other. Should we keep it that way? Or was Hagrid trying to subtly tell me not to make it all about sex? God, that's embarrassing. Hagrid's probably older than my dad.

I just happen to be walking by the chemists when that thought occurs and I'm suddenly trying to remember how many condoms I have and whether they've expired by now.

_If you have to think that hard about it, just get a new box._

I roll my eyes at Fred and push into the shop. I find what I'm looking for quickly, but stutter to a halt as something else catches my eye. Nicotine patches. I really do hate that I smoke. I can't smoke around Teddy. Harry only smokes when he goes out for drinks, which is almost never. I don't want to be the person smoking on the front stoop in the pouring rain while his boyfriend's inside cooking dinner. I don't want to see Teddy's face wrinkle in disgust at the acidic smoky odour on my clothes.

I grab a box. Why the hell not, right?

\--**--**--**--

The click of the lock jars me awake. I've fallen asleep on the sofa with some sports analysis talk show on as white noise. I spring up, running my hands through my hair and make my way to the hallway.

"GEORGE!" Teddy calls running into my legs full force. "You're here!"

"Tedlarney, Mayor of Bunnyville!" I cry, sweeping him up in my arms. He gives me a full, wet hug and it's the best thing ever. I turn my head and nestle my beard into Teddy's neck, making him giggle and squirm until his little hands push my face away.

"Hiya, George," Harry calls, hanging his and Teddy's jackets on the hooks by the door and slipping off his shoes. "Teddy, come here and take off your shoes, please."

"No!"

I walk him back to Harry and give him a quick kiss. "It's good to see you."

_Wow, you can get lost in a gaze like that. What colour green would you call that? It's the sort of green that needs an adjective, yeah? Or is it an adverb? Adjective. Definitely._

Shut up, Fred.

"Same - do not kick me, Ted. You're a big boy now and big boys don't kick their dads."

_Emerald? Forest? Clover? Hibernian? Soggy moss?_

Come on, now. Focus.

_Were his eyes always so captivating and I just didn't notice? Or did I forget over the last three months?_

Shut it!

The shoes are off and Ted runs off to the sitting room. Harry surges forward and wraps me in a hug.

"So tell me, Harry, what else do big boys do?" I ask in my sultry voice.

Harry snorts, "maybe you'll find out later if you're on your best behaviour."

I click my tongue. "Shucks. Best behaviour was always a stumbling block for me."

Harry playfully shoves me back to the wall and kisses me soundly. "Maybe you just weren't properly motivated before."

I wonder why I was ever nervous about seeing him. We find that easy rhythm in conversation, cooking, cleaning, and playing with Teddy like we had in August. Unlike my last stay, where Teddy was still a bit shy around me, now I'm his dinner buddy, his play buddy, and I'm even being requested for bath time and bedtime stories. I don't mind at all. Harry looks like he could use a break.

In fact, that evening after Teddy finally falls asleep, I find Harry curled up in the corner of the sofa like a cat. He jolts awake as I sit down.

"Could have used a warning about not using bunnies in the bedtime stories."

"Rookie mistake," Harry yawns.

"I'll keep that in mind."

We sit snuggled up in silence for a few minutes, relaxed in each other's company.

"Hagrid said he has a friend at the docks who might need some help," I say.

"What, here in Edinburgh?"

"Yeah, that's what I asked. Maintenance gig, I think. What would you think of that? If I found work here in town?"

"Really? I think that'd be brilliant!" Harry said, earnestly.

"There's no guarantees, but I was thinking of looking here. And I don't want to overstay my welcome, so I'll start looking for a place of my own to rent"

"Don't worry about that," Harry dismisses immediately. "You can stay here. Really, I don't mind."

"Are you sure? I mean, this is all still new. I don't want to ruin it because we jumped in too soon."

Harry searches my face and smiles. "Let's promise that if either of us is feeling cramped, we won't stew over it, we'll just come out and say it and worry about it then."

"You really think that'll work?" I ask sceptically.

"I don't know," Harry says with a shrug. "I've only really had one boyfriend. I'm no expert. I think it'll work as long as we actually stick to it, though."

"Yeah, okay. But I should warn you now, I decided to quit smoking, so if I'm being a total prick in the next few days it might have something to do with that."

"George, that's massive! Good for you!" Harry praises.

"Yeah, yeah, save your praise for when I actually quit. Hasn't even been eight hours."

"Well, as I said earlier, maybe I can help you stay properly motivated."

"I'm listening, Mr. Potter."

"Alright, upstairs with you," Harry says with a playful shove. "I've got an early morning, and I don't want to skip the foreplay."

"Ah, is there anything sexier than a man who knows what he wants?"


	5. Angry Cyclist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next two chapters were a struggle for me, but I think I found the solution to writers block when dealing with transitions: time jumps! WOOOOO!!!!
> 
> Posted November 22nd, 5,070 words.

I want a cigarette.

I want a cigarette so bad.

I want to bash this plonker's head in and piss on his corpse, then have a cigarette.

I need to stop biting my nails. The edges are catching on everything.

How many goddamn stops does this bus make?

Walking might be faster. And you know what goes well with a crisp, winter walk? A cigarette.

It's been just over a week and I'm rationing out my cigarettes. I don't want to buy another pack, which means I have three left and then it's over.

_Wow. Poor planning, Georgie._

I'm not a quitter. I don't want to quit quitting because I'm not a quitter.

_Try saying that five times fast._

FUCK OFF, FRED!

 _Ha! Try saying_ that _five times fast!_

I don't know if you can tell, but I'm glaring at you. It's deadly.

_So are cigarettes._

I hate you.

_Come on now, Georgie. You're almost there. Chin up._

You sound like mum.

_Thanks! She always had good advice. It was just sometimes hard to hear over the yelling._

I snort at that. I can't believe it's been almost four years since mum yelled at me. I've been gone nearly three, but it's not like she yelled at me in hospital. And it's not like I did anything in the months after that warranted yelling. Well, except the alcohol poisoning, but I guess they were all just too worried and too depressed themselves to manage a thorough tongue lashing.

The bus pulls into a stop, but the prat next to me bouncing his leg against my thigh and loudly making plans for the weekend on his mobile is once again not getting off. I can't stand this torture anymore. I'm still two stops away, but they say exercise helps with the cravings, right?

I need to get in a better mood before Harry gets home. I snapped at him last night and it was a rather frosty morning. He doesn't deserve my mood swings, and I actually want this to work. So I pound the pavement, soon making my way across the university campus. I think about stopping in at Hagrid's, but I just want a bath and a mindless telly programme to fall asleep to on the sofa.

I should thank him for helping me find a job. Ara has taken me on part time as a welder. I enjoy welding a bit more than being a mechanic. It's more relaxing, for sure, which is something I need at the moment. I thought I had been doing well with this quitting business, besides the whole not being able to sleep thing, but then I started my job yesterday and everyone who works along the docks smokes. It's such a challenge to walk through the clouds of smoke or watch my coworkers pull their pack from their back pockets and not join them to light up. It's gotten to the point that the scrapping sound of a lighter flicking on sends a shiver down my spine. I'm in need of some serious distraction, but all I want to do is stuff my face.

I can't remember the last time I was this insatiably hungry. Probably during a growth spurt in my teens, I'm sure. I haven't noticed _not_ having an appetite in the last few years, but I definitely notice _having_ an appetite now. I'm going to get fat if I'm not careful.

I rather like my stocky build. I've bulked up in the shoulders, chest, and thighs, just from the manual aspect of ship life. If Harry's penchant for squeezing my arms or thighs is any indication, he appreciates my build, too. I have a muscular stomach, but not a sculpted six-pack. I don't care _that_ much about my appearance, but I'm also not ready for a dad bod.

Harry is the same. While he has a lean, toned body, it's from everyday life and lugging equipment around crime scenes rather than careful exercise regimens in the gym. Compared to the few photos of him as a young boy and teen scattered around the house, he has filled out nicely. No one would call him scrawny _now_. His body-type is of the naturally slender, and it would probably take some serious effort on his part to put on enough weight to be considered pudgy.

My musings over Harry's body are cut short by my relief at being home. I strip out of my rain jacket and shuck my work pants by the washer. While the fishy smell still lingers on my clothes, I now also smell strongly of grease and I don't want to track that into the rest of the house.

I flick on the kettle and make a small plate of healthy snacks. I plan on soaking in the tub. The bathroom Harry, Teddy, and I share is functional, but it's nothing special. The first week I stayed with Harry in August, when I had the place to myself during the day, I shamelessly let myself explore.

The downstairs is all in the open. Kitchen, sitting room, dining room, half bath, office, laundry, patio and garden. Upstairs is simple, too. Harry's room, Teddy's room, bathroom, linen closet, and an odd hallway sitting area-slash-reading nook. There are two doors that hadn't been included in the tour. One led to the attic-slash-loft area that was used solely for storage. It's a nice space aside from the steeply sloping ceilings at the edges of the room. The last door shouldn't have been a surprise. I should have known that there would be a master bedroom with an en suite in a remodelled town home like this.

I imagine it was a beautiful room before the shadow of loss descended. Soft light filters in the draperied windows perfectly framing the large bed. Two matching handsome wardrobes stand opposite each other on either side of the bed. The duvet features a bright geometric pattern, but it complements the warm country-style wood furniture well. The covers are a little uneven, suggesting a blanket hog in the relationship. There are a plethora of framed photos scattered through the room. Dried, brown, fallen leaves litter the windowsill, bedside table, and floor in perfect circles around each shrivelled and desiccated potted plant. Three paperback books are stacked on one night stand with folded and refolded receipt paper sticking out as page markers. A small tablet is charging on the other nightstand, flanked by a small pile of balled up tissues. There are dirty clothes in the hamper by the bathroom door, and a basket of clean, partially folded laundry in front of the far wardrobe. It isn't completely tidy, but it isn't a mess either. If it wasn't for the layer of dust coating the room and a distinctly musty smell, they could have just popped off to the shops.

The bathroom isn't ostentatious, but it has a soaking tub with a detachable showerhead above, and a bit more counter and cupboard space. I hesitate at the door frame. I wouldn't dare use this room if Harry was home, but I have several hours to spare. I've been curious about the tangerine mint bath bomb I found in the cupboard during my snooping in August. I give the tub a quick scrub before I set it filling with hot water.

I place my tea cup and snack plate on the narrow wooden tray that fits across the tub. Before I drop the bomb into the water, I grab a hand towel to roll behind my head, set my phone to play mellow music, and finally strip off my undershirt and pants. I can't help but groan and shiver at the feeling of tiny bubbles popping along my submerged flesh.

Luxuriating in the bath is not something I'm accustomed to. With a big family sharing just two bathrooms growing up, it wasn't practical. I fell in love with baths once Fred and I moved into our flat in Bristol, but I only took them when he wasn't around because he teased me mercilessly. It's an indulgence; a craving that has been difficult to satisfy. Boarding houses typically involved communal bathrooms, which usually deterred me. So luxuriating was restricted to hotels, and most hotels have shitty bath tubs in which you wouldn't want to luxuriate in the first place.

In this moment, this tub is heaven. This _whole_ _house_ is a sanctuary.

But it hits me that Harry might not feel the same. For him, this house might well be more akin to prison. A haunted house, merely a shell of its former glory. I want to help Harry make this house his own. I don't know how to do that without pushing boundaries.

I know he lived here after his dad died. I know he stayed here after he graduated from Uni in Glasgow during the summer holidays right after Teddy was born so he could help the new parents out a bit. Tonks had lost her mother to a long battle with breast cancer, and her dad had passed unexpectedly the year before that. Tonks's parents were Harry's adoptive dad's cousins, but they were a bit older and took on the role of Harry's grandparents in the absence of the real thing. Never mind their own daughter was a teenager at the time. Once Remus and Tonks had adjusted to the shock of having a newborn, Harry moved to a flat with a few flatmates near enough he could pop by when they needed help, but far enough for breathing room.

Then catastrophe struck and Harry was back to living in their house, raising their son without them. I'm not sure whether the lack of change around the house is out of respect for Remus and Tonks - maybe a conscious effort to keep something of Teddy's parents preserved for him - or if it's more a product of circumstance. Not many single parents have free time for home improvement projects. Plus, Harry doesn't like to shop for anything other than groceries.

_The struggle is real._

I do have to admit that my wanting to help Harry move forward is a bit self-serving, too. We are living on top of each other in his room, and that's not just the nicotine withdrawal talking. There's no place for my few belongings, so I'm still living out of a rucksack. The double bed has little floor space on either side between the wardrobe, small desk, and bookshelf. It was meant to be a kid's room or a guest room.

I don't know how to offer to help purge and consolidate Remus and Tonks' belongings without sounding heartless.

_I'd refrain from using the word 'purge' for starters. Not exactly sensitive wording._

I mentally snort. Good point, Freddo.

Harry refuses to charge me rent for living here. He insists that since the house is paid off, it wouldn't be fair to charge me rent. I tried to convince him to let me take over some of the utility payments, but he balked at the thought of having to call the utility companies to make the switch. He won't even let me Venmo him! ARGH! I'm going to have to make do with buying groceries and fixing things up where I can. I have a lot of free time with my new job. I have to be at the docks by six, Monday through Thursday, and I'm done before noon every day.

Since I don't have hobbies to distract myself and I'm not sleeping well during my nicotine withdrawal, the idea of redecorating this place has taken hold and is festering. I think about the different ways to approach Harry about it while enjoying my tea and snacks. I think of all the different ways Harry might react as the effervescence dissipates and the water slowly cools. I'm no closer to resolution as I pull the drain and raise my pruned body from the bath.

I think I'll make lasagne tonight.

_Well, there's one decision made. Glad that bath was good for something._

Fuck off, Fred. I don't see you coming up with any suggestions.

_I want to see Teddy's face when you set down a dish of eggplant parmesan in front of him._

No! That's not what I meant.

And he'd be excited about the eggplant because it's purple. Obviously. Now back to the bedroom issue.

_Come on, Georgie. I never took you for insecure! You don't like when people manipulate you, so why are you trying to manipulate him? We were always direct when we were kids. It'll work now. And if it upsets him, just give him space._

\--**--**--**--

"You want to what?"

_Shit. He looks pissed._

Thanks, Fred. I can see that.

"No, I wasn't _suggesting_ anything! I was just curious if you'd thought about it."

"No. I have a room."

_Okay. Excellent work today, gentlemen. Let's just table this discussion for later once we've all had a chance to mull it over._

"Your room isn't really big enough for the two of us. I thought you might be feeling a bit cramped together."

"It's plenty big. It's cosy," Harry says with his brow furrowed somewhere between confusion and anger. He continued with his clipped tone. "I like things the way they are."

_And there you have it. No need for further discussion._

"Really? Okay," I say, my tone disbelieving. "What about just adding current photos of you and Teddy to the sitting room or the hallway?"

_Uh-oh._

"We have photos on the fridge."

_Stand down, George!_

"What about the door?"

_Danger! Danger!_

"What _about_ the door?"

_ABORT!_

"It says 'The Lupins,'" I say, leadingly.

_Jesus Christ, George. Shut it!_

When Harry doesn't respond I continue, "don't you think it would be alright for it to say 'The Potters?'"

"Tonks painted that door," Harry grinds out, glaring dangerously at a spot over my shoulder.

_Well, someone's sleeping on the couch tonight._

"And she did a lovely job. I'm a dab hand with a brush. I could keep the same style, match the colours. I love the door. I'd only change the name. I swear, the only people who'd notice are the postman and Mrs. Sprout, but only because she's a busy body. And the postman wouldn't notice for weeks, I'm sure!"

He stabs harshly at his lasagne. Harry's glare has intensified throughout my explanation, but he won't meet my eyes. "No. I don't want things to change. Everything is fine."

"Okay. Well if you reconsider, I could help you sort things."

"Noted."

\--**--**--**--

I think I can officially claim to be a non-smoker, which is great. It's been three weeks since my last cigarette, I'm off the patch, and I'm actually feeling pretty good. Except when I'm not.

If I'm honest, sometimes the only reason I'm so committed to this quitting business is because I don't ever want to have to quit again. It is awful. I wish I'd never started in the first place and now that I've gotten through the worst of my nicotine withdrawal, I never want to do it again. Plus I have to think about Teddy, and my health, but mostly Teddy.

I am officially a hobbyist again. I needed something to do with my hands and I remembered while I was colouring with Teddy that I like doodling. Fred and I had a little comic strip we'd distribute amongst our friends in school. They were all various parodies, mainly featuring our least favourite teachers or our more snobbish classmates that were richer than us, but apparently not rich enough for public school.

My favourite comic strip featured the first characters we created when we were younger. Fred the Fox and George the Garden Gnome would comment on different events they witnessed in and around the lively garden and grounds of the Burrow. We didn't really share those with anyone, with the exception of Ginny because they always cheered her up. It wasn't a conscious effort for either me or Fred, but it became almost like a scrapbook of our childhood.

We gave up the comic strips during our first year of uni. Life just got too busy for it. So I was surprised when our Fox and Gnome caricatures still flowed easily from my pencil, which is a testament to the sheer number of times I drew them to achieve that kind of muscle-memory. Once I started, I couldn't stop. Every cast member of the garden that Fred and I ever made was drawn and redrawn until I had the details right. Fred's characters were the hardest to imitate because he wasn't really consistent. Art wasn't his strong suit, and he'd throw in some detail here or there, mostly to annoy me, I think. He was better at the storylines and captions. The drawings stir up memories I've long since forgotten, like that it had started out as Fred the Frog, but once we passed the 'girls have coodies' phase (well, _he_ did anyway), Fred decided a frog was not suave enough for his personality. I teased him at the time, because it wasn't like either of us had prospects or were particularly suave. But once he changed to the fox, it seemed like he channelled the character in real life. I guess the gnome suited me because I never considered changing it.

I had so much free time in the afternoons that I started writing out new story lines, and they now featured moments of my life with the Potters. Teddy's Christmas gift this year would be a new homemade storybook written and illustrated by me. It's only a twenty-page story for now, but that's more than enough. I'm sure it will only hold up to the scrutiny of a two-year-old, for all that it isn't terribly original. I already talked to a local print shop about pricing for fancy paper and a smart binding. I'm sure a kid as young as Teddy won't appreciate the quality or lack thereof, but it will have to do because I am out of ideas.

Harry won't let me buy the kid a bunny. Dick.

Harry is both easy and difficult to shop for. I am obviously going to buy him new clothes because he hates shopping, but the difficult part is that clothes are _boring_. I want to give him something special and unique. Clothes are so generic, no matter how appreciative Harry would be. I want to do something to show him how glad I am to be a part of this life. His life.

_Jesus, you've become so sentimental without me. Just fuck his brains out, Romeo. Done. Mystery solved._

I can't get passed the notion that I should help him move into the master bedroom. I know he's been thinking about it. He thinks about it every time he stubs his toe on my rucksack, or he knocks over something of mine on his bedside table because there isn't room for a second one, so we share. I may be one stray piece of pocket lint away from being homeless... or having a bigger bedroom.

It's still a bit of a shock to me after I put Teddy down for a nap following our whirlwind Christmas shopping excursion, that I find Harry in the master bedroom with his face buried in a worn, green cable knit jumper. I hesitate, thinking he needs time alone, but he's had hours of that while I argued with Teddy about which colours and patterns of shirts to buy for Harry at M&S. Gravity pushes him in to my side as I sit on the bed beside him in silence, legs and sides pressed together. I wait for a sign of discomfort or anger before I wrap my arm around his waist, holding him closer. Harry shakes his head slowly, face still buried in the jumper, but I don't think the gesture is directed at me. Harry lifts his head with a dramatic sniff, finally making eye contact with me, and flashes a weak smile that might be more of a grimace considering his bright eyes. He slips the overlarge jumper over his head, wipes his nose once more, and simply says, "Okay."

"Okay?" I ask, eyebrows disappearing in my hairline.

Harry nods his head. "Okay."

"Yeah. Good," I say, rubbing my palms on my thighs. "Do you know where you want to start?" Harry shakes his head. "No? Okay, well I put some thought into it. I think we should sort through their clothes. Pack away their favourite things or stuff Teddy might be able to use or appreciate someday. We'll put them in sealed bags to keep the bugs out and such. We can get a trunk or something to keep it all in, and then it's all there for him when he's older. We can donate the rest of the clothes. I'm assuming you don't want to try to sell anything, right?" Harry shakes his head and I sigh with relief. "Oh, good. I have no clue about that. I think the important thing here is just to take it slow. If you need a break, we take a break. But I also read a few articles that suggest, like, talking about the stuff. To remember the good times instead of just the grief. You don't have to, but I don't know... it might give a little life back into the room."

Harry exhales heavily, looking around the room. "Okay."

We sort the clothing rather quickly. I expect the endeavour will be an ongoing struggle with Harry falling apart over each jumper individually, but once we set off Harry tackles it like it's any old chore. Remus was a simple man with simple tastes, like Harry. He identifies the items worth keeping quickly and moves on to Tonks's wardrobe. There aren't many things we imagine a boy could want from his mum as far as clothes go, so we neatly pack away in bin bags the few nice dresses and blouses, along with the suits she wore to work for donation. Tonks's ceremonial police uniform is set aside until we can get a special bag or box for it. Harry saves her leather jacket and favourite boots from her punk rock phase, as well as a few hats, scarves, and favourite jumpers that Teddy might be able to appreciate someday. The real gold mine is the long, low chest of drawers littered with framed photos and dead leaves from the potted plants. The stories start to flow from Harry as he pulls out graphic t-shirts from concerts and vacations. These were their favourite clothes to wear and Harry seems to know how each stain and tear got to be there. The pile of saved items multiplies by the time we've emptied all the drawers. I'm glad to see Harry's kept a few things for himself, including all of Remus's socks because the man liked to indulge in well-made, colourful wool socks. I bag up all the clothes for donation as Harry tends to Teddy, just woken up from his nap. Had it really only taken a nap-amount of time to make this much progress?

_Told you he needed space, but did you listen?_

I did _eventually_....

I can feel Fred's face palm.

After triple-extra-double checking that it is okay with Harry, I arrange everything for the donations. I take Harry's 'okay' as permission to push this project forward. The bags of clothes disappear Monday afternoon, the saved clothes get packed away in a trunk along with the sentimental items around the room and the photos from some of the frames. I dust, Hoover, and generally clean up the space. I consult with Mrs. Sprout, who is happy to plant new life in the Lupin's pots. I launder all the bedding and drapes. I clean the bathroom, chucking old prescriptions and junk that collects in bathrooms. I've added Remus's shaving kit to Teddy's trunk, as well as Tonks' jewellery and perfume. By the next weekend, we're ready to move in.

"Wait, is this you?" I ask, taking a large framed photo of the highlands off the wall. I've spent hours looking at the photo that sits opposite Harry's bed. I've let my thoughts be enchanted by the mist hanging low in the moors with the tree-dotted mountains rising in the background as a bird hovers above the lake below. In the lower right hand corner, a man with messy dark hair, dark-framed glasses, and a bright orange rain jacket sits on a picnic blanket, arms wrapped around his denim-clad knees watches the scene. He looks completely at peace for all that you can see him in pseudo-profile. I hadn't pieced together that this was Harry. It looks like a professional photo. I've always assumed it was bought at a store, just a generic sort of photo that Harry liked. It is beautiful, but even more so now that I realise it's him.

"Er, yeah. It is." Harry replies, almost nervous, running a hand through his hair.

"I never realised. It's a great photo. The lighting, the scenery... did Remus take it?" I ask. Harry has become a wealth of stories about his former guardians and friends since we began the purge. I can feel him freeze, the anxiety suddenly rolling off him in waves.

"No, I, er... it was my boyfriend, Colin, that took the picture," Harry stutters out.

I look at him, wryly. "Mr. Potter! Say there hasn't been another before me, please!" I say in a scandalised, affected tone. I'm sure my eyes are alight with mirth as Harry blushes and smiles shyly, waving me off. He's mentioned his one previous boyfriend in passing a handful of times, but we've never spoken about him in any detail before. It doesn't bother me at all since Harry hasn't questioned my past either.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. My first real boyfriend was Colin. He was studying photography. He was a year behind me at university but he was only a few months younger. I met him just before term started my second year. We dated until my last term. He, well, he was a really bright, happy person." Harry says this with a grimace as if it explains everything that happened. Maybe it does. Happy people can be exhausting. "Ted had his aneurism the year before, then Andromeda was so sick after and we knew the end was coming soon.... They were like my grandparents. We were really close, especially when I lived with Dad, and losing them... it was hard. It brought up everything I hadn't dealt with after dad died... I know I wasn't the easiest to be around at that time. I had spent the winter holidays in Edinburgh helping out before Teddy was born, so we didn't see much of each other for a month. Then I got back and I was in better spirits but I still had my moments and, I mean, he tried so hard to cheer me up, but some things you can't speed up. I've never really been the sort that lied, so I couldn't hide my feelings well. Colin had met someone in one of his classes. I guess he'd been flirting with him for a while and he decided to give that a try instead."

I hum, then state bluntly, "I don't like him." Harry cracks up.

"He was really decent, but yeah, I think he would have annoyed you. We had a lot of good times, though. He grew up outside of Carlisle and his family loved camping. They'd come up to Scotland whenever they could for little weekend getaways and such. He knew where to go and what to see. He had all the gear we needed. He'd get all our friends to pile in with us and we'd have an adventure and he'd take pictures. He'd submit photos to the student gallery all the time and even sold a few in shops around Glasgow." Harry sighed. "When things ended, pretty much all our friends were a bit more attached to Colin, so there wasn't anything to keep me in Glasgow when I graduated. I wanted to be back in Edinburgh for the Lupins, anyway. Tonks helped me find a job and I got my flat share. I tried dating again - like healthy dating, not snogging in clubs dating-"

"Yeah, that's not dating," I interject in a low voice, "but go on."

Harry glares playfully. " _Anyway_ , you know the rest. Remus and Tonks died. I adopted Teddy. I met you. And here we are."

"Here we are."

The moment stretches as we look at each other. I lean in and kiss him sweetly.

"Do you mind if we keep the picture up?" Harry asks when I break away.

"Here or in our room?" I ask, confused.

_Our room. Look at you all domesticated. I'm - sniff- so happy for you, Georgie._

"Our room," Harry clarifies.

"Not at all. I rather like it."

Harry nods, relieved. "I wasn't sure if it'd make you uncomfortable, since Colin took it."

"Well, seeing as how it's you in the photo and you aren't snogging or shagging in it, I think I can appreciate its origins without getting overwhelmed by jealousy," I tease, kissing him again, less sweetly.

He pushes me back after a minute, taking the frame from my hands. "Come on. We've got so much to do before Mrs. Sprout brings Teddy back."

I groan and grab another load of stuff to move down the hall. "Wait, did he take any nudes of you? Because it's almost Christmas and we've got three other walls to decorate. Five if you count the loo!"

\--**--**--**--

The first night is restless. The next morning Harry decides we need to donate the bedding, too, and spend a small fortune for new sheets, blankets, and a duvet. The next night I pull out my best distraction techniques, but for the first time I can remember, Harry isn't interested in sex of any form. Instead I hold him tight until he falls asleep, tears falling silently like the first night we met, except they land on my shirt, not his.

It takes four more days for Harry's funk to lift. We christen _our_ room the morning after his first peaceful night's rest. It is worth the wait.


	6. The Joyful Kilmarnock Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if you'll be able to tell from this chapter, but I love this time of year. In case I forget to say it later, I hope you all have safe and happy holidays.
> 
> Posted November 26th - 7,410 words

I don't prompt it specifically, but as we decorate the house for Christmas, Harry begins making changes to the sitting room, as well. He finds space on the shelves for new photos of him and Teddy. I can't contain my surprise and the warmth that spreads through my chest when I notice my face amongst the shelves, as well. The more hideous canvas paintings that were Tonks' wino night creations make their way into the attic, where the less hideous decorate, the hall, Teddy's room, and the guest room. Other professional-looking photos take their place in the sitting room. My first assumption is that these are more of Colin's handiwork, but when I notice the scenery is mostly that of Edinburgh I realise Harry must have learned a few tricks from his ex-boyfriend and these are his own photos. There's a walkway with crushed gravel, lined on either side by flowering bushes from the Royal Botanical Gardens; there's a stag on a hill, ears perked, standing in tall yellow grass staring down the camera lens; there's Teddy in his wellies jumping in a puddle down by the pier in Leith; there's the Holyrood Park ruins at sunrise; there's a snow-covered tree framed by columns of the Queensferry Road bridge taken from the foot path below; there's a massive, shaggy black dog with striking electric blue eyes and a huge doggy smile, panting in the shade of a tree. Each is gorgeous, and even more than that, it is Harry. His favourite places and favourite people captured on film.

I make it onto the Christmas card, too. I was surprised to find that Harry was sending them out in the first place, but it was just a simple collage of photos of Teddy with a little blurb on the back about the toddler's development in the last year. He didn't go through the hassle of writing a whole letter to go along with it like mum would every year - devoting a paragraph to each member of the family. There was one photo of the three of us bundled up against the cold, out for a walk along the waterfront. I smiled at being included.

Mostly, the Christmas cards are being sent to friends of Remus, Tonks, Ted, and Andy. Some are for exchanging with Harry's own colleagues. It is really a courtesy, a chore Harry took on, because as far as I have seen, none of these people are active members of Harry's or Teddy's life. I wonder at the point of it, but don't question. I help Teddy put the labels and stamps on the envelopes and make sure he doesn't cut his tongue sealing them. Less than a quarter have jam on them by the end, which I consider a win.

The whole process gets me thinking about my family again. I haven't reached out since I left the voicemail in August. They had tried calling me back, but I didn't answer because that's how much of a twat I've become. I don't know what compelled me, really, but I scrolled through the pictures on my phone from the last three years and contemplated which ones my parents would like to see. The fruits of that effort are now in my hand, fresh off the presses. I sit alone at the table having just polished off my lunch, not able to put it off any longer. I riffle through the prints, smiling at the memories. I pull my notebook to me and begin drafting my first Christmas letter since the time Fred and I 'revised' the family letter without mum's knowledge nine years ago. How shocked would Fred be to realise years later Percy actually would knock up his girlfriend and rush to marry? It was worth the sore backside and weeks of extra chores for the endless phone calls from extended family and friends that mum had to field that year.

_Arguably one of our finest pranks._

After two hours of scratching out sentences, not a few stray tears hitting the pages of my notebook, and making it nearly halfway to the shop for a pack of cigarettes before finding my resolve to turn around empty-handed, I've written out a neat final version of the letter on festive, holly-patterned stationary that I found in the office.

_Dear Mum, Dad, and Weasley's high and low,_

_Happy Christmas! I hope this letter finds you well. I'm finding myself better than I have been in a long time. I'm taking a break from fishing, which if you listened to my voicemail in August, you'll know is the way I've been supporting myself since I left. I have also been putting my degree to use as a ship mechanic, but I doubt the university is about to start bragging about my achievements. Can you imagine that promotional post on the engineering department's Twitter? "2016 Bristol graduate George Weasley successfully limps another ancient trawler into port only 57 hours behind schedule - 22 of which without coffee - and just 3 hours shy of total mutiny at sea."_

_The job I was heading to when I called in August ended in such a manner, so it's not surprising that I've spent the last few weeks working part time as a welder at the port instead of looking for another crew. I'm questioning whether I want to keep travelling like I have been. I met someone - two someones I should say - Harry and his son Teddy. It was a bit of a chance encounter followed by a series of events that led to us living together, but every time I think about leaving I just can't. It's nice to have a home again. Harry adopted Teddy last year after his parents died. For all that I've been terrible at processing my grief for Fred, somehow I've been able to help Harry in his. I'm so sorry I couldn't see past myself to be there for any of you._

_Teddy is bright, sweet, clumsy, precocious, temperamental, and everything else you would expect of a toddler. He loves bunnies, but Harry won't let me get him one for Christmas. He says we've got enough rogue piss as it is. We are anxiously awaiting the transition to fully toilet trained. You would think I'd prefer the days when I wasn't cleaning literal shit off the kitchen floor while making dinner, but I wouldn't change a thing right now._

_I believe this is the part of the letter I'm supposed to use to brag about my accomplishments, but the only one I can think of is that I quit smoking, but that means admitting that I started smoking in the first place, and what do you know? Nearly four years without Fred and I'm snitching on myself._

_If you're interested, I've included a few photos from the last three years. The first is of me with my first fishing crew. I ran out of money in The Netherlands and lucked into a job out of Voldendam. I learned an important lesson (twice) about the consequences of mixing seasickness with a hangover and I haven't been much of a drinker since. The captain helped connect me with my next job which took me to Denmark which led to Poland, Latvia, Germany, Spain, Tunisia, Turkey, Iceland, and finally Scotland._

_The second photo is just to assure you I haven't been living a life of luxury in my world travels. My American friend Tommy took this photo of my bunk when we worked in Tunisia. I'm not even that tall or pudgy and I barely fit. You probably wouldn't have liked Tommy much. He embodied both the 'swearing like a sailor' and 'frat boy' stereotypes. Don't mind the moustache - it was the result of a bet and I shaved off my misplaced eyebrow as soon as I met the two month terms._

_The third photo is from Iceland. That's my landlady, Sigridur, and I at her house overlooking the harbour. We're drinking her homemade barley water. It was peaceful there, and my favourite assignment so far. As you can see, I went full beard. I've rocked some sort of facial hair pretty much since Denmark, but I didn't go for the full-on fisherman beard until I started fishing the northern Atlantic in winter. Sigridur gave me endless shit about it and my hair, so it's no wonder she reminded me of mum. We did a lot of cooking together. She's now a keeper of the Weasley family shepard's pie recipe, but she didn't care for blood pudding. I can't really explain what prompted me to leave Iceland, but I know Mum would like Sigridur._

_The fourth photo is from the last trawler I worked on out of Fraserburgh in November. I don't know if you can tell by the icicles growing in my beard, but it was a mite chilly in the north! This was one of the worst crews I worked with. My last outing with them I had to do major repairs on the engine after a storm. The crew wasn't gracious about the delays and once I got her moving towards port, they locked me on the deck soaking wet. Hence the icicles. I was always going to be a temp on that crew while their mechanic was recovering from heart surgery, but I was truly glad to leave them behind._

_The last photo is from a few weeks ago of Harry, Teddy, and myself out for a walk along the waterfront. I think it's obvious from the photo, but I want you to know I'm happier than I have been in years and hope that's some comfort to you._

_I promise I'm working to be better. I know it may not seem like I care since I haven't been around, but I do love and miss all of you. Even Percy. I think about you constantly, and I'm happy to see you all getting on with life. I hope to see all of you again someday soon and meet all these nieces._

_Signing off before this becomes overly sentimental,_

_George_

I finish off the letter by sketching out a Christmas card with three comic strip panels showing Fred the Fox at the base of a decorated Christmas tree and George the Garden Gnome at the top, trying to steal the angel. Then Fred plugs in the string of lights electrocuting and illuminating George at the top of the tree, then the angel falls to the floor, which hits Fred on the head as he's rolling with laughter, clutching his stomach. I caption the inside 'Zappy Christmas' with a slightly charred and grumpy gnome side-eyeing the still laughing fox. I colour the images sparsely to highlight certain features, proof read the letter for the fourth time, then pack it into an envelope along with the photos. It is in the nearest post box before I can second guess myself.

_Baby steps to George's magnificent and belated return!_

Before I can second guess myself further, I pull out a photo from the sleeve on the table, slip it into a frame and set it on the chest of drawers in our room with all the others. It's the last photo I took of Fred. All the Weasley brothers are there together, one last time. We look happy. Even Percy.

_Look at those young fuckers. They haven't a clue._

If only I could be so lucky again.

\--**--**--**--

Teddy loves his new book and makes me read it to him over and over again with animated voices and everything, every time. He can't get over the novelty of being a character in the book he's reading. The basic plot is that Teddy the Tortoise and Harry the Mother Hen find George the Garden Gnome broken on the side of the road by their house. They do their best to piece him back together, and in the end he's a little scarred and is still missing an ear, but he's alive again. They find him a spot in Mrs. Sprout's garden with them. Teddy and George become friends as Harry takes care of them both. George is sad because his best friend, Fred the Fox is missing. That's how George came to be in the lane - he'd fallen out of a truck on his way to the ends of the earth trying to find Fred. Harry wonders if Fred has been looking for George the whole time and neither one is standing still long enough for the other to find each other. Teddy and Harry make a burrow for Fred in the garden, too, just in case the fox finds them, instead. So George settles in to life in Mrs. Sprout's garden. They have adventures in the city and Holyrood Park, and help Mrs. Sprout tend her plants. George lets himself be happy for the first time since he lost Fred, who he still misses dearly. Just as Harry predicted, though, Fred finds George now that he's stopped running. Fred tries to convince George to leave with him, either to go home with him to their first garden or continue adventuring to the ends of the earth, but now that George knows Teddy and Harry, he doesn't want to leave them forever, either. Fred and George part ways by choice this time, with a hug and a promise to never forget each other, but it isn't for forever because Teddy and Harry made a place in the garden for Fred. They know the fox will visit when he can and they each live their lives to the fullest even though they can't be together all the time like they once were.

Honestly, by the third emotional telling, I'm regretting ever writing this story. Why did I go for honesty? Why did I have to reflect so much of what I'm feeling into a children's book? I wasn't even trying for biography, exactly, but that's sort of the way it came out. I blame those goddamn cigarettes.

One good thing that came from the book, apart from Teddy's joy, was Harry's displeasure.

"Harry the Mother Hen? Are you kidding me? I'm not a mother hen? I'm not a hen at all! I'm a... a cock! Wait, no! That came out wrong. I should be a _rooster_ in this situation, not a hen! Not a mother, either! ARGH!" Harry rambles, regretting it immediately as I dissolve into a fit of giggles as Teddy runs around the sitting room strewn with Christmas paper yelling 'mother cock!' over and over.

Once I find my composure, I hold up my index finger and thumb pinched together. "I was this close to making you Harry the Hermit Crab." He flicks a dollop of whipped cream in my face instead of on the hot chocolate in front of him with a sour expression. "Hey now! You can't get angry if you're proving the point as we speak. That's exactly what a hermit crab would do!" I yell even as Harry takes me down. Teddy lands heavily in our dog pile, then wipes the stray cream out of my beard with his sticky little fingers.

As part of my Christmas present, Harry has done some research amongst his coworkers (including the use of some database at work that would technically be frowned upon if anyone found out he used it for personal reasons) to find a reputable tattoo parlour in Edinburgh. I haven't been able to get the idea out of my head since I found out about the origins of Harry's tattoo. I made up my mind in early December after I finished Teddy's book. Harry got me booked for an appointment on New Year's Eve, eve. Mrs. Sprout has Teddy help her bake and decorate for her annual New Year's Eve party for the afternoon while I sit in the chair as the friendly Mr. Flitwick inks Fred the Fox and George the Garden Gnome on the inside of my forearm near the crook of my elbow, just as I requested. A bubble extends from Fred's mouth with the caption, 'Go for it, Georgie.'

I hope this means I can keep moving forward. I have been so terrified of being on my own that I've chosen to be alone in a fit of poor reasoning.

_Well, I always said I was the brains of this operation._

"You know, I've never asked about him," Harry says on the walk home.

I hum noncommittally to that statement. It's true. Harry's never pushed, but he's offered up details of his life with very little reciprocation from me, even when I'm spouting off facts about mental health and the stages of grieving like I've got it all figured out.

"I don't want to push, but I really think you should talk to someone," Harry says. "I'm here if you want to share. I can also get recommendations about psychologists if you want to talk to a professional."

I shake my head. "No. I had to go to a counsellor after the alcohol poisoning incident, well...the second one... and the third. I didn't like it. I don't want to do that."

"You might feel differently about it now that you're in a different place, emotionally," Harry suggests. "And it would be your choice to go, not someone else's."

My terse silence is answer enough.

"Yeah, okay. I get it," Harry agrees easily. "But I still think you should talk about it. Tell stories, you know, remember the good things like you told me to do. 'Bring the life back in,' yeah?"

I hang my head, burrowing my nose into my scarf as the cool wind off the water picks up. I think my walk can be accurately described as brooding, which I've never cared for. So I give just a little bit. More than I've given Harry before, but still only a fact. It's everything and nothing in six words, ten syllables.

"Fred was my twin brother. Identical."

Harry waits for me to say more, but when I don't he responds light-heartedly.

"Would he have wanted to shag me, too?"

Fred splutters in my head, completely caught off guard. _Well, I, er, now don't take this the wrong way, kid, but the only balls to which I'm interested are my own. And footballs.... Rugby every now and then. Cricket's not bad, but who has the time, really?_

It shouldn't be so funny, but it is. The skin around my eyes crinkles and I laugh in spite of myself. "No, you weren't his type."

"Ah, so not completely identical, then," Harry comments with a smirk.

"When I told him I was gay...." I start to say, but the feelings seem a bit too much. I have to steady myself and start over. "I tried so hard to not be gay when I was younger. Fred was flirting and dating birds left and right. He'd set me up on double dates with him, but I just couldn't make myself be interested in those girls. We'd have good chats, snog and such, and I'd go through the motions sort of half-heartedly, but Fred was the opposite. I knew what was wrong with me - I mean, not wrong with _me..._ wrong with the dating. I started to know for certain that I was attracted to blokes. Even then it bothered me, so I did a bunch of research, and thank god for the internet and incognito tabs, but that's when I found out you could be bisexual. I thought if I was bisexual, maybe Fred was, too, and then we'd still be identical even if our preferences leaned in opposite directions. I didn't want there to be this big difference between us. We spent most of our childhood making it impossible for even our parents to tell us apart. It was a hobby we were quite dedicated to - you know, the old 'Oi! He's not Fred, _I'm_ Fred' bit? 'You say you love us but you can't even tell us apart?' We did that sort of thing all the time. Sometimes we'd even switch outfits during the day to trick people. But I wasn't interested in girls and Fred wasn't interested in guys, so I finally had to tell him I was gay. I told him all of what I just told you, too. That I tried to not be, but he just shut me down immediately. He said, 'don't you see Georgie? We aren't identical twins, we're one bisexual person with two bodies. You get all the blokes and I'll take the birds, but we're one person. Fred-n'-George. Never one without the other.'"

Harry lets the words sink in for another block as we walk before he comments. "Does that mean you feel like half a person now?"

"Sometimes," I admit quietly. My hands are shoved into the pocket of my jacket at waist height and I hunch my shoulders against the cold. Instead of responding, Harry loops his arm through mine and walks that much closer to me.

"You know I love you, right?" Harry says once we turn down the street and our bright, pink ombre door is visible.

My beard twitches as my lips quirk. "I didn't know that, actually."

"Oh, well, I love you, George."

"I'm very fond of you, as well," I say immediately, earning myself a playful swat before I can pull Harry in for a deep kiss. Harry lets his hands wander, gripping my shoulders and biceps the way he always does. I flinch as his hand drifts over the inflamed, newly inked skin.

"Oh, shit! Sorry! I forgot already."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I quip, confidently.

"Yeah, yeah, sex god. Whatever," Harry replies dismissively as he reaches into his pocket for his keys. Then a hopeful expression crosses his face. "I bet if we're really quiet, Mrs. Sprout won't know we're home yet and we can eek out another twenty minutes or so."

I perk up at this. "Twenty minutes, you say? Oh, Harry, the things I'm going to do to you," I whisper as we tip-toe up to our door, keeping out of sight of our nosy neighbour's windows. We open and close the door with all the care of handling a live grenade.

For all our efforts, Mrs. Sprout gives me a knowing look when I knock on her door thirty five minutes later. "That'll be _two_ bottles of wine for the party, now, Mr. Weasley. Nice ones. And don't be late."

"Yes, ma'am." I salute her, but she stops me before I can kiss her cheek with a look that says she knows exactly where my mouth has been.

_Probably for the best._

\--**--**--**--

"Who has an office party in January, anyway?" I ask, brushing the dirt and ice from my bum after I've slipped on the cobbled stone outside the crime lab.

"A bunch of scientists on a budget who just can't be bothered," Harry responds, bitterly. "We don't have to stay long."

"No, no. None of that," I say, dismissively. "I want to put faces to all the stories you've told me. I want to meet the people you rush out to in the middle of the night."

"You make it sound so much more exciting than it is."

"It's your life, love," I explain. "Why wouldn't it be interesting to me?"

He holds open the door for me and I peck his lips with a quick kiss. "Wait," Harry calls, dragging me to the side before we head into a conference room where some music is playing, indistinguishable above the chatter and laughter.

"What's up?"

"I haven't really told people that we're together," Harry admits, eyes pleading for me to not make a big deal out of this detail.

I take a moment to process. "Do you not want them to know? Would people cause problems for you?"

Harry shrugs. "I don't know, honestly. I don't _think_ so, but I'd rather not find out. We really don't have to stay long."

I nod and consciously take half a step back from boyfriend zone to friend zone. "Alright, I'll try to keep my wandering hands off you."

Harry breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

The party isn't much to brag about. There's catered food on a table on the far wall, which most people are ignoring in favour of the bar. Drink tickets are traded like the hot commodity they are. Harry and I become heroes of the night because we've forfeited all of our drink tickets in favour of Irn Bru, which is free and in abundant supply. It is an interesting way to meet Harry's colleagues, by lording drink tickets over them and effectively making them flirt with me for the extra booze.

I use our one last drink ticket to buy Harry's supervisor a scotch and soda. Minerva McGonagall is a hard woman to read and even harder woman to crack. She's an enigma because for all that she has harsh criticisms and high expectations for her staff, she genuinely cares if you're observing her at the right moment. We talk about football at length and she dresses me down properly for picking a Scottish Premiership team based solely by their shield.

"The Killies are so popular amongst you young people just because of the novelty of the squirrels in their shield. It's insulting and lacking all integrity," she criticises sternly.

"It's not insulting, it's unique! What other teams do you know that have a squirrel mascot? And there's a built-in joke whenever you want to talk about them. 'Ah, they've squirreled away another one. Defending the nest, really lobbing in those crosses like acorns. The crowd is chittering away at that call.' You know?"

She stares at me in vague disgust. "It's hardly a selling point," she clicks out.

I shrug. "It's more original than all the lion related shields and mascots out there. Lions are actually pretty shit. The female lions do all the hunting and defending for their pride. Male lions are mostly there for reproductive reasons, yet they get glorified in popular culture as a symbol of royalty, virility, and status. If you ask me, that's more insulting."

McGonagall's nostrils flare at my comment. She is a Livingston supporter, and while they don't sport a lion on their shield, they are still known as the lions. "Well, we will just have to disagree on this matter and let the results stand for themselves."

Harry rejoins us at that point, handing me a new can of Irn Bru. "What are we talking about?"

"Your friend's choice of football teams," McGonagall replies, unimpressed. Harry glares at me, knowing I didn't sensor myself even for the sake of his boss.

"Ah, yes. Well, forgive George, here. He's still a southerner at heart."

"Oi! You're every bit as English as I am," I cry out, offended to my core.

"No, he's not," McGonagall says at the same time Harry tells me, "the hell I am, bugger off!"

"Did he tell you he only chose Kilmarnock because of their shield?" Harry asks his boss.

"Yes, he confessed as much."

"It wasn't just that. They're the oldest club in the league and the mascot's name is Captain Conker, I mean, come on! Beat that, Mr. Hibs?"

"I'm not having this discussion with you again. I live in Edinburgh. I love Leith. I support the Hibs. I was in Glasgow for three years and if that city couldn't convert me, nothing can."

"Quite right, Mr. Potter," McGonagall states with a hint of pride.

"You don't even like his team!" I cry, indignant.

"No, but I am from Livingston and I could never let my support waver. It's called principles, Mr. Weasley."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean. My support has never wavered from the Killies." I continue to argue with the stern woman, and I nearly get her laughing by the end. I've decided that my ultimate revenge on both will be making Teddy a Killies fan. It won't be difficult. The kid loves squirrels almost as much as he loves bunnies.

Harry is a crime scene examiner for Police Scotland. He collects evidence for crimes mainly in the Leith, Craigentinny, and Portobello districts. He is certified to respond to Level Two crime scenes, which includes serious crimes like murders, serious assaults, and serious sexual assaults. His work is far from pretty and he doesn't discuss his cases at home in much detail. He shares his frustrations about people he works with or encounters he has with the public that try to impede the investigation. He has plenty of funny stories, too, but he never talks about his work very specifically.

His teammates are much more forthright with details, though, and I take the opportunity to soak them in. Harry is still the youngest member of the team, so he is often sent into the less desirable jobs, like wading into the sewers to search for discarded weapons or painstakingly scraping vomit off carpets for processing at the lab. He is also usually tasked with crime scene photography, so he initially follows the lead investigator around, photographing items before they are collected. He is basically a lackey, and most of the good stories are about him, apparently. But what I get from the subtext is that he is well respected by his peers, he never complains about the tasks assigned, and he is rising through the ranks well. Just the fact he is working on serious crime scenes at his age is an accomplishment. As much as Harry complains about Mrs. Sprout's interference in his life, she must have spent quite a bit of time as Teddy's emergency baby minder since the Lupins died. Lord knows how many times I have been woken up by Harry's mobile calling him in and I would have to drop Teddy off for day care instead.

But Harry isn't particularly close with many of the people at this party. He may technically be an employee of the crime lab, but he is assigned to crimes in the North East command area of Edinburgh and responds directly out of the police station. His teammates are the ones he interacts with regularly, and apart from Morag MacDougal, the lab tech responsible for signing in evidence under chain-of-custody and McGonagall, he doesn't know many people at this party. He is closer with some of the young police officers at the station, but since they are in separate departments of Police Scotland, he isn't technically invited to the police Christmas party. Either way, there wasn't one this year because at the previous Christmas party a group of detectives ordered expensive bottles of wine with their drink tickets and had their wives sneak them out unopened in their handbags at the end of the night. The whole party went over budget by enough that they were denied funds for this year's event to balance the budget.

Harry stays close to my side through the night. We had started the evening talking with his teammates and their spouses, but they broke off to talk with the lab techs they don't get to see every day and Harry seemed to flounder at the prospect of meeting new people.

"How do you do that?" Harry asks as we walk through the dark, cold streets lit only by the dim lamp posts and the odd shop window.

"Do what?" I ask confused.

"Make friends wherever you go? Dad used to do that, too. He could just walk into a room and it was like people were clambering over themselves to talk to him. Dad would chat with a stranger like they were best mates that hadn't seen each other in years. They'd share personal information that you'd think would be too private for a first meeting, but he just made people feel at ease. I've never had that talent," Harry states bitterly, kicking a rock off the icy path.

I look him over before responding. "What do you call what happened when we met?"

"You being unbelievably charming," he responds immediately. "And me being a bit desperate."

"I remember it the other way around," I say, but amend, "well, maybe not charming, but definitely engaging. I couldn't have ignored you if I tried. And desperate? Really? Let's give ourselves a bit more credit than that."

Harry shrugs. "Either way, you're an exception."

I huff a dark laugh. "I don't know why you're jealous. Clearly I don't have many meaningful relationships in my life. I don't have any at the moment apart from you. So what if I can chat people up at a bar or a party? It's not like I'll ever see most of them again, except in this case I'll see them again at next year's Christmas party. Unless there's a summer picnic I should know about?" Harry shakes his head with a shy smile. "Oh, good. Well, some people are good at meeting people, but you're good at keeping good people in your life. I'd say that's a more enviable talent."

"I don't know if that's true. It's been pretty lonely since Remus and Tonks died."

"I think that's more a comment on other people's character, not yours," I say, firmly. We walk on, feet crunching in the mixed ice, slush, and snow. "Your team seems to really like you, though. At least you have good work friends. Doc Dearborn seems really friendly."

"Yeah, he is. He gives the best parenting advice. His oldest is almost fifteen. I've been thinking of tapping her in as a minder for Teddy. You know, give Mrs. Sprout a rest. Only, Doc is really religious and I'm not sure how he'd react to us being together. I'm pretty shit at reading people about that sort of stuff."

"I didn't get any hateful vibes from him. I don't think you need to hide who you are, but I'd also say there's nothing wrong with keeping things professional at work, either. You could always drop some subtle hints about us being more than flatmates and if he bristles at any of it then you'll know where he stands?"

"Yeah, maybe," he sighs.

"McGonagall's a riot, though, yeah?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Oh, yeah. If you like her, you'd love DI Moody. He was Tonks' supervisor. He's a paranoid old blighter, but he worked a lot of organised crime cases back in the eighties and I guess some habits you never out grow."

"Did he make his wife run off with bottles of wine at the Christmas party?"

Harry laughs. "No, he's the one that's been making them pay for it the last thirteen months and counting."

We walk in silence, huddled against the wind funnelling down the high street. "My younger brother, Ron, is a police constable in Cambridge."

"Oh? Is he the one with the red hair?" Harry asks, and I shove him playfully.

"Cheeky bastard. He's the tall, lanky one, and he's just passed his probationary period."

"That's exciting. Is he going to apply for CID or stay with the police?"

"I'm not sure. I only saw a post about it. My brother Charlie - he's in the air force - got some leave before the holidays and they all got together in London to celebrate."

"What about the others?"

I take a deep breath and continue. "My eldest brother, Bill, is an archaeology professor at Durham University. He met his wife, Fleur - she's French- on a dig site in Egypt. She's an accounts manager at a bank now. They have two girls. Next is Charlie, he's rarely home because of the military and various adventures. He always wanted to be an explorer and have grand adventures when we were younger. He started out in the peace corps, actually. He's the only one of us that didn't go to university. Then there's Percy. He's an aide for a member of parliament, though I can't ever remember which one. He's a Tory, though," I confess, rolling my eyes to Harry's amusement. "He was always the most studious, rule-abiding, straight-laced of all of us. Fred and I constantly antagonised him. We were the next in line. I got my degree in mechanical engineering and Fred went in for business and marketing. I was lined up for an internship and the master's programme at Bristol before Fred died. We wanted to eventually open up a shop together. Fancied ourselves inventors, you know? He'd handle the business end of things and I'd do the manufacturing. We were both idea men, though. The plan was to go out, make our money in the big, bad corporate world for a few years and then work on our side hustle until it took off enough for us to tell our bosses to 'fuck off.'"

"That would have been brilliant. I can only imagine the sort of crazy genius stuff you'd come up with," Harry comments with a brilliant smile, as if he really is imagining the possibilities.

I clear my throat before continuing. "Ron is the youngest boy. He's a few months older than you. He got a football scholarship for a small school in Birmingham. He did some bullshit programme for communications," I scoff. "I never would have pictured him as a cop, but... Fred's death changed us all in some way. Ron must have followed his girlfriend to Cambridge. As far as I can tell Hermione was accepted to their law school." Harry whistles approvingly at that. "Yeah. Apparently no one's told her she could do a lot better than my brother. Any of my brothers, I should say. I only met her a few times, but she was not afraid to challenge people on their beliefs. Fred in particular got a kick out of riling her up. She was like a more wicked, ruthless, left-wing, female version of Percy." I smile at a particular memory of my last Christmas at the Burrow. "I expect they'll get married at some point, assuming Ron doesn't cock up too badly. They seem happy together."

"If they do get married, we should go."

I nod absently, wishing it could be that easy.

_It could be that easy, you twit. All you have to do is call when someone's bloody well at home!_

"Last, but certainly not least, is my sister Ginny. She's a year younger than Ron. She played football at University of Leeds. They won the championship three years in a row with her as a starter. She got a degree in like, human physiology or something, but I'm not sure what she would do with that. She's just gotten called up to the Tottenham squad. She mostly comes off the bench as a relief player, but she's managed a few starts this season. Has three goals and five assists so far this season," I announce with pride.

"Damn. That's brilliant. We should watch her next match or catch up on highlights sometime," Harry suggests as we turn down our street. "You know, Durham isn't all that far from here. You ever think about visiting Bill? We could rent a car?"

"Yeah, but... I don't know what to say. I've been gone so long."

"It's only going to get longer until you do something about it," Harry points out mildly.

"I know that," I snap. I turn on my heel and backtrack from Mrs. Sprout's door where we were heading to pick up Teddy together and walk straight into our house alone. I start getting ready for bed, leaving Harry to deal with the sleepy toddler on his own. I'm a git for not opening the doors for him and making sure Teddy's head doesn't collide with any walls on the way to his room, but opening up about my family is just not something I can do lightly anymore. I know acting like this is a great way to get Harry to break up with me and toss me out, but I just can't help myself.

I sleep fitfully over the weekend. More so than I have in a while. I toss and turn and wake from unpleasant dreams. Fred's giving me the silent treatment so I get a taste of my own medicine. Harry gets called out on Sunday afternoon for what I suspect is a double homicide, likely drugs related, if the newspaper's twitter feed is any indication. Teddy makes use of the new kids bike with training wheels that he got for Christmas and we work our way around the University campus until we stop in to Hagrid's for a visit. Harry doesn't return until five in the morning when I'm pouring coffee into my thermos before I head off to work.

"How was it?"

"Mmmm," Harry hums, stretching with his arms above his head on the other side of the kitchen island from me before taking a seat. "Podmore couldn't make it so I got to help with a blood spatter analysis after I finished picking up cigarette butts in the yard and alley."

I nod appreciatively. "Congratulations! Moving up in the world."

"Hardly," Harry says dryly, "I spent the whole time being told what an idiot I am by Snape, the blood specialist, via video chat. But it is something different, so I can't complain. I do know we should both steer well away from whoever knifed these two guys. They definitely weren't messing about."

"Was it a drugs thing? That's what the news said."

"Probably. But one of the DCs let slip the wife of the guy they think did the knifing was stepping out on him, so they can't rule out crime of passion."

I gasp, "Scandal!" and Harry laughs tiredly. "I've always thought that phrase made it sound so much more enticing than it should be. Crime of _passion,_ " I say, complete with shoulder-shimmy.

"Quite. But until you come up with something better, it's the most succinct way to discuss said crimes," Harry says, yawning wide at the end.

"I'm sorry for being such a dick on Friday," I say sincerely, embarrassment colouring my tone.

"No worries, love," Harry says, waving me off lazily with a weak smile. "I'm sorry for pushing. I said I wouldn't, but I did anyway."

I nod, then pass Harry my last slice of toast before kissing his cheek and heading out for work. Ara's shop is the same as it always is, passing by in spurts of productivity and down time. There is really nothing exciting about the day and all I can look forward to is taking Teddy to the park with his new bike while the rain has relented. I walk along the pier toward the gate that keeps the public from wandering in to the industrial district by accident, oblivious to the group of red heads bundled up on a low wall opposite the gateway as I check my mobile for messages.

 **Harry:** My shift starts at 1. Do you think you'll be home by 12:30? If not, I'll have to drop him off at day care.

I double check the time, then dial him up.

"Hey, love, I'm just leaving the docks now. Have you left yet?"

"Hey George, yeah we're on the bus now."

"Want me to meet you at the station and take Teddy home from there?"

"Ah! Yes, that'd be great. I think he might be coming down with something. He doesn't have a fever, but he seems a bit off. I'm worried I'll get a call from Ms. Rosie an hour after I drop him off to come back and pick him up."

"We can't have that. I'll see you in a few and get our trooper in tip top shape."

"Don't just pump him full of sugar like last time."

"I would never," I retort, offended, "you take that back, Harry Potter!"

"I'll meet you out front, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay. Bye."

I'm just pulling up my collar against the wind when I hear my name called out. I turn back to the gate, expecting to see Ara or Bane calling me back to clean up my station better, or to stay a few more hours to work on a project. Who I see jogging toward me instead has me stutter to a standstill, my face slackening in shock.

"Ah, so your mobile _does_ work, then?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aahhhhh!!! Minor cliffhanger!!! I had to, sorry.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and comments. It's a lovely way to wake up, seeing an email from AO3 telling me posting this wasn't a waste of time.


	7. All Alone, The Things I Flee Always Find Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the cliff hanger, I give you the longest chapter in this story.
> 
> Posted November 29th - 8,510 words
> 
> Chapter title from The Proclaimers song "In My Home."

"Bill? What are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same."

Ron materialises at my other side, gripping my shoulder firmly and pushing me to the fence along the edge of the walkway so we aren't blocking foot traffic, and I suspect to limit my means of escape. But I'm too flabbergasted to think of escaping. He stands tall and emotionless, and I know instinctively this isn't my younger brother, but PC Weasley. Dad crosses the street, coming straight towards me and I can't avert my gaze from the desperate look in his eyes. He stops half a step in front of me and surveys my face closely, taking in all the details. All the changes three years can bring. Ron's hand is still on my shoulder and Bill has closed ranks on my other side.

"George," Dad breathes.

Words fail me, but I don't struggle against the hug he pulls me into. After a moment of being completely frozen in his embrace, I squeeze my eyes shut and burrow my head into his shoulder. He smells like home, and home smells like love. My arms wrap around his slim waist of their own accord and grip him tight.

"Oh, George," he breathes again, sounding choked. "George, George, George." His hand moves up to cup my head like it always would when I was younger. His hand is warm and comforting even through my thick, woollen stocking cap. He grabs my shoulders and gently pushes me back at arm's length to take in the sight of me again. His eyes are bright with unshed tears as he squeezes my shoulders. "Look at you! You've gotten so strong. And this," he trails off pulling at my overgrown whiskers. "The pictures didn't do it justice."

I finally break enough from my shock to respond absently, "Yeah, I need to trim it. It's almost longer than my face shield. I'm gonna catch a spark and burn the whole thing off if I'm not careful."

Dad chuckles wetly. "Can't have that."

"What are you doing here?" I ask again, letting my eyes flicker between him, Bill, and Ron, who has crossed his arms over his chest and wears the same hard expression.

"We're here to see you, of course. We pieced together the clues from your letter. Came as soon as we could."

"Clues?" I ask, dumbly. My brain is slow on the uptake. This is not how I ever expected this reunion would go. I may have daydreamed about the possibility of running into someone I knew while they were on holiday, but I figured the chances were slim considering I usually keep to industrial and commercial areas rather than touristy places.

"Yeah. You said you were in Scotland - we talked to your boss in Fraserburgh, and then your landlady, Sybill. She said you left for Edinburgh, but wasn't sure if you were staying there. That photo of you with Harry and Teddy, there was some stuff in the background. The Port of Leith, specifically. The letter was postmarked from Edinburgh, too, so we scoured Google Street View until we figured out where the photo was taken. We figured that meant Harry lived in Edinburgh, so we called every welding and machine shop we could find in and around the port until someone recognised your name. That was Thursday afternoon that Bill talked to Bane. Didn't seem a very pleasant fellow, but he did say you only worked mornings and not Fridays. So, this was the earliest we could get to you. We figured he wouldn't give your home address out."

I roll my eyes and manage to huff a laugh, "oh, he would have for the right price."

"Sure, laugh about the fact your family has to resort to all this bullshit in order to find you," Ron responds harshly. "Everything still has to be a fucking joke with you even after what's happened."

"You didn't _have_ to do any of that," I say in a low voice.

"Yeah, actually we did," Bill states, but his tone is kinder than Ron's. His blue eyes bore into mine and he cracks a tentative smile, which I return. He pulls me by my forearm crossed over my chest and I stumble into another hug. "It's good to see you, Georgie," he whispers against my ear, rocking me gently back and forth. All I can do in return is nod as I feel my throat tighten.

I hear my mobile chime above the background noise of the port and I'm reminded of my meet up with Harry.

**_Harry:_ ** _The connection was delayed so we're on foot now. Sorry we'll be a bit late. I'm sure you'll hear us before you see us._

"Shit, I have to go." I turn to head up the road, but Ron pushes me back forcefully.

"Where d'you think you're off to?" he asks aggressively.

"Ron, that's not necessary," Dad says, laying a hand on his upper arm.

"Like hell it isn't!"

"Look, you can come if you want, but I have somewhere I have to be right now," I say, pushing Ron back with equal force when he doesn't move out of my way.

"BOYS!" Dad scolds and steps between us before Ron can retaliate. We stare each other down and I quirk my eyebrow in challenge as Ron's scowl darkens.

Dad turns to me, "We'll come with. Lead the way, George."

_Well, Harry's in for a bit of a surprise._

I lead them on a brisk walk into the city, trying to make up for lost time. The station isn't far from the port, but the route is a bit circuitous due to fences, bridges, and roads without walkways. We don't speak as we go, and it isn't until we're at the crossroads half a block from the station that Ron loses his temper.

"Where the fuck are we going, anyway?"

"Ronald! That isn't helpful," Dad scolds again as the lights change and we hurry to cross the street. That's when I spot a familiar, lean figure round the corner, jogging with a wailing toddler on his hip. I hold up my hand to wave at Harry and I see him sag with relief. He closes the distance quickly, and as he approaches I see him cover Teddy's ear with a gloved hand before he begins to rant in a barely controlled growl.

"Fucking hell! I'm so sick of these buses never being where they say they're going to be! And what's the fucking point of raising fees so they can put trackers on the bus if the app doesn't even refresh regularly to show their real time locations and you spend ten minutes waiting for a bus that's already fucking come and gone? God damn it! And what's the point of publishing a fucking timetable if you can't manage to keep it after the first two bloody stops, huh? A forty-five minute delay? Just fess up and say it's fucking cancelled at that point, for fucks sake! Those wankers couldn't give two shits that people's livelihoods depend on public transport, but I'll be damned if I'm paying for a car just so I can be charged a fortune in parking fees and insurance. Argh!" Harry finishes his diatribe with a rude hand gesture, releasing Teddy's ears in the process, though I'm sure the boy couldn't hear any of the swearing over the force of his own crying and his wet demands to be put down, all while he hits Harry's chest with his tiny fists in time with his legs kicking out. "And I'm going to be late, how are you?"

I smile and wrap Harry and Teddy in a hug, ignoring my old family in favour of my new family for the moment.

"Deep breath," I say, kissing the side of his head before pulling away, rubbing his back. "You've still got a few minutes, don't panic just yet."

Teddy's just caught on to the fact I'm present and he flings his arms out to me and leans past the tipping point in Harry's arms so I have no choice but to take him. Harry's expression as he shakes out his arms tells exactly how well this trip to work has gone today. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he finally registers Dad, Bill, and Ron standing behind me, and his face morphs comically from frustration at the Edinburgh bus system - and parenting, in general - to stunned shock at who is standing with us.

There goes the niggling suspicion that Harry had taken it upon himself to contact my family behind my back and force a serendipitous meeting. Not that I think he'd be that conniving, but still... I know he isn't a good enough actor to pull this off.

"Harry, this is my dad, Arthur, and my brothers, Bill and Ron," I introduce, pointing to each in turn. "Everyone, meet Harry and Teddy." Harry recovers quicker than I did and takes his glove off to shake hands with each, muttering a quick greeting with a friendly smile.

"Er, sorry about the swearing before. It's been, er, one of those days," Harry says, but dad waves him off good naturedly. He darts a questioning look at me. I nod my head towards the station and Harry starts, "oh, shit! Yeah. Work."

We take off toward the station and Harry rummages in his bag for his ID lanyard to get him through to the building. "He's been coughing and sneezing all morning, but I checked his temp regularly and it was all normal--"

"Jesus, you only got in at five. Did you get any sleep?" I interject, but he just shakes his head and pushes through.

"Not a wink. I wouldn't be surprised if he has a fever by the time you get back. He's done this before. He's been fussier than usual, which is a good indicator that he's not well. God, I hope it's not another ear infection. Though, with the way he's carrying on, I wouldn't be surprised if he's actually a demon growing a second set of teeth and he's going to murder you by the end of the day."

I laugh at that, patting Teddy's back as he continues fussing in my arms. "Well, if he does I want to be cremated, but don't spend a fortune at one of those funeral homes. There's a guy in Fraserburgh that'll do anything for 50 quid. Name's Dung Fletcher, he owns the salvage yard, and he even has an incinerator. You really can't miss him. Anyway, at some point I want my ashes spread in the Norwegian Sea. Call Sigridur to make the arrangements. And while you're there, you have to try her pear tarts. More importantly, I trust you'll cover the evidence? Our Teddy isn't ready for prison, yet. Besides, he's got a good heart. He's just misunderstood, isn't that right, little man?"

Teddy continues squirming, wanting to be let down.

"Yeah, I'll keep the coppers away from him at least 'til he's potty trained," Harry agrees. "That'll be a good five years or so at the rate he's going." We've reached the gates and he's found his badge. He hands over Teddy's brightly coloured backpack, which he always takes to day care full of snacks, nappies, and his favourite blanket. "I don't know if you saw the news, but they found another bag of crisps at an old jam warehouse. And I heard they've requested a carrot to search the papaya's house for last night's crisps, so it'll probably be another late night with everything we have to process."

"Is Podmore back or do you get to analyse the marinara spatter again?"

"God, I hope so. I don't think I can deal with Snape yelling at me over video chat again today. Oh, I'm sorry, 'coaching,'" he corrects himself with air quotes, rolling his eyes. "I'll probably end up fingerprinting all the asparagus in the house. That, or picking up every pea between here and Dumfries. Probably both with my luck."

I grimace at the prospect. "Fingers crossed there's no soup. Alright, off you go. Good luck, and don't worry. I'll take good care of young Master Tedwin."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Mrs. Sprout won't be back 'til late this evening. You can always call if you need me, and if I don't answer, it's probably because they actually have sent me into the soup again, so call Dearborn. His number's on the fridge."

"Yeah, I've got it. Go before you're actually late!"

He kisses Teddy's cheek again and waves a "nice meeting you," to Dad, Bill, and Ron before disappearing into the building.

I turn to my family again, who look thoroughly confused. "Right, so, you've met Harry. And yeah, this is Teddy. He's a bit under the weather, though, so you'll have to excuse his temper."

Ron looks at me with something other than cold contempt when he asks, "what the bloody hell was that all about?"

"What was what about?"

"'Search the papaya? Fingerprinting asparagus?'" he repeats, incredulous, and Bill at least laughs at how ridiculous it sounds.

"Oh, right. Harry's a scene examiner. He doesn't like to talk about anything gory in front of Teddy since he soaks stuff up like a sponge, so we use food code words to keep things light." With that I do my best to distract Teddy by pointing out a group of pigeons across the road and I cover his ears like Harry had before. "Bodies are bags of crisps, drugs are jam, knives are asparagus, cigarette butts are peas, warrants are carrots, suspects are papayas, the sewer and/or sewage is soup, and blood is marinara. Oh, and guns are broccoli, but we rarely use that one. There's a bunch more, but those are the most common. As you can imagine, it got a bit out of hand."

I let Teddy down to walk as we set off back to the crossroad, which appeases him only slightly. "I should probably get him back to the house."

Dad smiles and says, "of course! Lead the way! Though, is it very far? Maybe Ron should move the car."

"It's a bit of a jaunt, yeah. We live near the University."

"Oh, well, why don't we all ride then?" Bill offers. "We're in my car, so I've got a car seat for Teddy and everything."

My smile is tight. "Yeah, sure. Great."

_And the BAFTA goes to... not George! Bravo, you ruddy pillock. Can't even pretend to be a little happy to see them? You really are a fucking twat sometimes._

Yep, Freddo. I'm well aware of that fact. Don't need you weighing in now.

I have to pull up sat nav to get us to the house. I've never driven to the house and I'm not used to having to pay attention to one way streets and such since we walk everywhere or take the bus.

"It's the house with the pink door," I tell Bill as we turn up the narrow street.

He snorts and shakes his head, "of course it is. Why am I not surprised?"

We take our shoes off inside the door and Teddy tries to kick me like he always does. He tries to escape before I can snake his coat off, but once I do he disappears down the hall. I hang up our coats and on auto pilot I start to strip out of my work clothes in the entry way just outside the doors that hide the laundry tucked under the stairs. I've already pulled off my trousers and jumper before I realise how awkward it is to be stripping in front of guests, no matter that we're related and they've seen it all before.

"Er, sorry. Habit," I say, sheepishly. "I'm trying not to track too many unpleasant scents into the rest of the house. Half my stuff still smells like fish guts, so...."

I empty the dryer of my clean clothes into a basket and scamper upstairs with Teddy in tow so I can check his temperature before I take a quick shower. Sure enough, his temp is a little elevated so I have to fish out the cough syrup.

Teddy doesn't like the intrusion of Weasley men in his sitting room and becomes bashful, trying to hide behind my legs and not speaking to or looking our guests in the eye, even though Dad is trying his hardest to win the little man over. But the cough syrup takes over eventually and once he nods off I transfer him to his crib with a little help from Bill. He spots the Fred the Fox book almost immediately, and I feel like a piece of shit as I pull the book from his hands as he skims it and set it back down without comment. His expression is unreadable, and I'm sure my own is similarly closed off, but we can't talk here where Teddy's just fallen asleep.

Besides, we have bigger issues to discuss than a children's book.

"This is a nice place you've got," Dad comments when we've returned. He's at the bookshelves looking through all the photos and knick knacks.

"Yeah, it is," I agree. "Teddy's parents bought the place outright before they died, so as long as we can pay the taxes we'll always have a place to live."

Dad nods absently in his scanning of the photos. "And these are Teddy's parents?" He points to the one of the Lupins holding newborn Teddy in hospital the night he was born.

"Yeah, that's Remus and Tonks. Remus was a professor at the University; he taught biology. He actually co-wrote the textbook I used at Bristol. Tonks was a detective sergeant," I say, pointing to her promotion ceremony photo a few frames over. I move on to some older photos. "That's Remus and the Potters when Remus graduated from UCL. That's baby Harry and his parents, James and Lily. They died six months after this was taken." We move over to the Lupin's wedding photo. "That is Sirius, Harry's adoptive dad. Sirius and James were really close growing up. He changed his last name to Potter once he was of age. I guess he didn't get on with his own family and didn't want to carry their name anymore. The Potters always treated him like a son, and Harry said they used to joke about it being an adult adoption. Sirius died just after Harry's sixteenth birthday. It happened less than a year after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer." I pause, mentally assaulted with that squeezing of my heart as I remember the night Harry told me the story. It had devastated him. "He came here to live with Remus and Tonks after."

"Remus was one of Harry's parents' other best friends and Tonks was Sirius's cousin, so that's how they met." I move farther down the shelves to point out another frame. "These are Tonks' parents, Ted and Andy. Harry says they were kind of like grandparents to him growing up, since he and Sirius didn't have any other relatives - at least, none they were close with. Ted died of a brain aneurysm when Harry was at uni in Glasgow, and Andy died of cancer not even a year later, right after Tonks found out they were expecting. She'd been sick for a long time. Teddy doesn't have any living relatives, so Harry adopted him after the accident."

Dad keeps scanning the shelves, pausing at each photo that shows me. "How did you and Harry meet?"

I can't help but blush furiously, and I rub the back on my neck nervously. It's not a look any of them are familiar with since Fred and I always projected unabashed confidence. "We met this summer when I was passing through on my way to Fraserburgh."

"You hanging around play parks, now? Or did you get arrested?" Ron asks nastily.

I roll my eyes, "no, I met Harry at a bar."

"I thought you said you quit drinking," Ron accuses.

"No, I said I don't drink _much_ anymore. There's a difference."

"Oh, sure. Sounds like you've got a real handle on things."

"Jesus, Mary n' Martha," I huff, parroting Ernie Prang in my exasperation, wishing I had just one cigarette to get me through this conversation. "I don't go to bars to drink, Ron."

He gives me a look like he can't think of a reason to go to a bar and not drink. It's Bill that saves me from having to respond. He clips the back of Ron's head with his palm, "He went there to pull, you dolt."

Ron's face scrunches up in confusion, "then how'd you end up here?"

_God, I forgot how thick he could be sometimes. Just look at that face. Oh, I've missed this. Take the piss out of him, Georgie, please! Make my day._

"Cambridge's finest, ladies and gents!" I announce, waving grandly to Ron. I hear dad chuckle in spite of himself and Bill joins in.

"What?!"

"He met Harry at a bar where he was trying to pull, and now lives and co-parents with said guy. Figure it out, Ronnie. It's not that big of a leap, even for you," Bill chides.

Ron's confusion fades to dawning realisation, tinged with disbelief, horror, and maybe a little hurt. "You're a pouf?"

Bill swats the back of Ron's head with more force than before, and turns a stern, fatherly expression holding equal parts warning and disappointment on our youngest brother.

"Wait, did _you_ know?" Ron asks Bill, who nods.

"He wasn't subtle," Dad comments dryly, which has me blushing in embarrassment. I was fairly subtle _before_ Fred died. Dad is alluding to what happened in the months _after,_ when I would drink myself stupid and fall into any willing man's bed. Or bathroom stall. More often than not, Dad or Bill would see me through the aftermath. Ron and Ginny were at uni, Charlie was off saving the world, and Percy was busy brown nosing MPs in London. Bill and Fleur had moved back home for a few months while Bill finished writing the paper for his research grant and Fleur tried to distract Mum's all-consuming grief with baby Victoria.

Yep. Dad and Bill knew. Fred hadn't found his way into my head right away, so I had ventured into some dark places. They had seen me at my very worst. There really is nothing like having your Dad break the news 'you've got syphilis, but thank god it isn't HIV, and what were you thinking, George? Oh, right. You weren't!' I groan at the reminder.

"What about Fred?" Ron asks.

"What _about_ Fred?" I answer with more anger than I'd intended.

"Was he-"

"No. He wasn't."

"Oh."

A tense silence passes.

I stalk to the kitchen and flick the kettle on. I stare out the window, waiting for the water to boil. They each come out to fix their own cup of tea. I bring the bottle of whisky down from the cupboard above the fridge. Ron gives me another withering look.

"Oh, bugger off," I mutter, handing the bottle to Dad, who pours a generous measure in his cup before passing the bottle to Ron.

"I didn't come out to anyone except Fred. We were already living in Bristol when I did," I confess, mostly to Ron, even though every fibre of my being is screaming that my sexuality doesn't define me and it's no one's business besides my own. "I may not have gotten along well with Percy, but I knew he had certain views of what was and wasn't appropriate and I wasn't ready to test the strength of our relationship. I didn't think Percy would handle it well, so I chose not to be open about it around the family. Fred thought I should have more faith in all of you. Gave me more than one bollocking about it, I assure you."

Ron nodded. The hurt in his tone was more evident when he spoke next. "Am I the only one who didn't know?"

I shrug. "I'm not sure about Mum, Charlie, or Percy. Ginny caught me snogging a bloke after a football match once, so she actually knew before Fred, but we never really talked about it."

"Who were you snogging?!" Ron asks and I can see him mentally cataloguing every member of our old squad trying to assess signs of queerness he'd missed.

"Don't remember his name. He was from Torquay, I think."

"You snogged a _rival_?" There's the Ron I know and love. Football first, always.

"I was consoling him on their loss," I reply with a smirk.

"Oh. I guess that's alright then," Ron says lacking all venom, causing Bill to snort into his boozy tea.

"Are you staying with the police or are you applying for CID?" I ask him, remembering Harry's question from the other night and wanting to change the subject while I've got an opening.

"Huh?"

"Are you staying PC Weasley or will you be DC Weasley?" I clarify.

"How do you know about that?"

"Instagram and Google Alert. Congrats, by the way."

"You saw that?"

"Yeah."

"You keep tabs on me?"

"Yeah."

"Do you keep tabs on all of us?"

"Yep," I say with a pop.

"Even Percy?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why?" Ron asks, incredulous.

"Because I miss you."

"Then why haven't you come back?"

"Dunno."

"You don't know." Ron's voice is heavy with scepticism.

"No, I don't."

"I think you do," he challenges.

"Really."

"Really."

"Really?"

"Really!" Ron shouts and I've matched him as our argument escalates.

"FINE! Because I'm a bloody coward!" I confess, throwing my hands up in surrender. Bill and Dad stand to the side, not intervening even though I want them to. There's no point since Ron's clearly been jonesing for this fight for years. "Is that what you want to hear? Or is that not specific enough for you? Do you need to hear me say I don't trust myself to not become an actual alcoholic? Is it going to make it better for you to know I don't trust that I won't off myself the next time I get lower than low? I _hated_ how you'd all look at me wishing I was him! Wondering if he would have fallen apart so spectacularly if our places were switched. I don't need you here yelling at me to know I am a piece of shit. None of you deserved having to deal with me, so I left. I don't want to come back until I'm better!"

"Yeah? And when's that going to be? Never? You don't think we deserve to have some say in the matter? You don't think we could have helped you? We already lost Fred and that wasn't our choice, but we had to lose you, too? Do you have any idea what this has done to us? To Mum? Are you really this selfish?" Ron grounds out. "You're still here, George. You're still loved. You two may have been closer than we could ever comprehend, but you're still our brother and we needed you. We still do. And you know what's infuriating?" Ron asks, gesturing wildly with his hands. "You've been gone for three years and you don't even have the decency to be a homeless drug addict on the brink of starvation. No. You're up here in your posh flat with your young, professional boyfriend and your cute kid, fresh off your world travels, swapping murder code words, and bonding over your wall of dead people. Did your precious Harry even know about us before today or does he think you're a poor lonely orphan like he is?"

 _Are_ you _going to punch him or can I?_

_Can we pretend this is a sci-fi movie and for a moment I get to take over your body to fulfil a life-long dream? I mean, I have punched him before, but it's been so long... PLEASE, GEORGIE, PLEASE, LET ME BE THE ONE!_

_George?_

_Georgie?_

_Say something._

I don't know what to say. My anger has deflated and been replaced by every self-deprecating thought I've had since Fred died. Everything Ron is saying is nothing I haven't warred over in my own mind, only he's being more kind than I deserve. Even through his anger I can feel that it's fuelled by love and betrayal. Self-loathing rains down on me in a storm that Harry and Teddy have managed to hold off these last six month and I have no words for Ron. For Fred. For any of them. I can't defend myself because he is right and we all know it. I wish I hadn't survived that night. If Fred had to die, why couldn't I? Why were we always fooling around? Why couldn't it have happened when we were walking next to each other? Why did three meters have to be the difference between life and death?

The baby monitor crackles loud enough to break me from my thoughts. I blink away my stupor as the sound of Teddy's coughs and sniffles reach me. My hands are shaking when I set my cup on the island as I make for the stairs. I don't know if I didn't make it to the counter or if my finger hooked the handle as I moved, but either way the cup smashes to the floor instead, shattering and spilling milky tea everywhere. I turn to deal with my mess with a muttered curse, but Bill waves me off.

"We've got this. Go see to Teddy."

"Geooooorrrrrrgggge!" Teddy's moaning call carries without help from the monitor followed by wracking coughs, and I hurry up the stairs with purpose.

"Hey, little man. You're supposed to be sleeping. What's wrong?" I ask the tyke looking at me with dull eyes.

"My throat hurts. M'cold," Teddy pouts. I lift him out of his crib and wrap him in a plush blanket. I hold tissue after tissue to his reddening nose as he blows out seemingly endless amounts of snot, then coax him into drinking a whole cup of water. I hold him close in the rocking chair, rubbing his back and singing softly. But Teddy won't be distracted back into sleep. He's fussy, and while he doesn't try to get down from my lap, he squirms constantly.

"Why are you crying?" Teddy startles me with this question. In my defence, the fact he's focused on anything besides himself in this state is surprising.

"What? I'm not crying?" I deny instantly, even though I can hear the hitch in my voice now as I speak.

"Yes, you are."

_He's right. You're crying. Cracking up as we speak._

"Oh. I didn't realise, Tedster. Sorry." I brush away at the tears with a snotty, used tissue that is already in my hand. 

_Ugh, have some respect for me, if not yourself. I deserve fresh, snot-free tissues._

"But, why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you crying? Are you sad like Daddy?"

I smile tightly at Teddy. "No, I'm just worried about you. I don't like seeing you sick."

"Oh."

"Do you think daddy's still sad?" I ask.

I can see him thinking it over before he answers. "No. Not anymore."

Dad knocks on the door then, armed with a fresh cup of tea for me and ice chips for Teddy. He decides it's time for stories and demonstrates his expert-level granddad skills. He's in his element as he flips through the pages of Teddy's story books, knowing exactly when to narrate and when to dramatically animate. He makes Teddy gasp and giggle in all the right places, even though this kid has heard all these stories a hundred times over. Somehow, this makes me all the more sad. My dad shouldn't be here in Teddy's room, should he?

Am I horrible for thinking that?

These two lives, past George and present George, aren't meant to intersect. At least, not yet.

_Maybe it's only fair? They didn't get a choice when you left, so you don't get to choose when you come back. And it's not like it's the whole Weasley clan. Just a delegation. We don't even know if the rest know about this mission. Consider this a toe in the edge of the lake, not a canon ball off the dock._

I'm standing in a field, Fred. There isn't supposed to be a lake for miles.

_Well, tough titties, George. I'd give anything to be there with them. Hasn't this gone on long enough? Why did you call or send the letter in the first place if you didn't want some sort of contact with them? It was going to happen eventually, right? So, why not now?_

I don't know, but I didn't ask for _this_! I'm not ready! What am I supposed to do?

_Don't run. Whatever you do, don't run. You can't leave Harry and Teddy. The way they both look at us? We can't leave. Don't take me away from them, George. I can understand why you left home before, but I could never forgive you if you left now._

I don't want to leave.

_Good. Don't._

They can't just show up out of the blue and expect what I can't give.

_Come on, now. Don't make me admit that Ron is right. Please don't do this to me._

Do what?

_I'm sighing heavily, just in case you can't hear it._

I heard it, yeah. Go on.

_Are you ever going to be ready? Are you ever going to be 'better' by your standards? I told you before that you should have more faith in our family. That advice applies here, too, mate. Harry isn't the only one with the capacity to understand how you feel. Harry isn't the only one who can help you._

Bill appears in the doorway with a tray of food. We get Teddy to eat half a banana, a yogurt cup, and a few bites of toast, then Bill places a wet flannel on Teddy's forehead before settling himself on the floor. I continue to rock him curled in my lap. By the time Dad finishes the eighth book, Teddy is dozing in my arms.

I check his fever again.

"What's it at now?" Bill asks, quietly.

"It's up to 38.4. Climbing, slowly."

"How long to the next dose?" he asks.

I check my watch. "Er, nearly two hours still."

"Hopefully he'll sleep til then," he comments, just as Teddy's hand flies up to scratch his face in his sleep. I stay his hand from doing any harm and gently rub his cheek until his face smoothes out.

I glare at Bill, "don't jinx us or I'll have to ask you to leave." It dissolves to a grin when he flips me off. There is something comforting about them being here, even though it feels so wrong that they are _here._ Maybe it's comforting to be near them, but not comfortable that they've invaded the house?

_Maybe it's because Ronniekins isn't in here trying to start a fight._

"Where's Ron?" I ask.

"Stretching his legs," Bill answers, and I nod absently. "Sorry about him. We knew he was angry, but we thought he'd keep his temper in check. It's been better with this job, and he really got the ball rolling with tracking you down once he saw the letter. We couldn't leave him behind after all that."

"You don't need to apologise. Everything he said is not half what I deserve. You shouldn't even want me back after all this," I whisper.

"How about we all stop making assumptions about what everyone else is or should be feeling, yeah?" Dad says.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Dad reassures me.

"No, you don't understand. I'm sorry about... everything," I say, waving my free hand in a circle and fixing him with a desperate look, asking him to understand what I mean by that.

He returns my intense gaze and responds slowly, clearly, and without judgement. "I knew what you meant, and it's alright."

My chin wobbles as I hold his gaze. "I didn't know what else to do."

"I know, George, I know."

I repeat over and over as my sight blurs and my chest begins heaving, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Teddy is transferred seamlessly from my arms to Bill's, and Dad grips under my arms to help me stand. Bill takes my place as Dad ushers me out of the nursery, closing the door softly, and guides me into my bedroom.

I'm sobbing in his arms. I don't remember the last time I cried so obviously. I've cried more silent tears than I can count since I left home, but I don't know when I last indulged in this sort of grief. I think I could only let myself indulge when I was dead drunk, and it was never cathartic then. It can't be if you don't remember it happening.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I keep repeating through my sobs, and Dad keeps reassuring me that it's okay. He holds me close and I feel as small as Teddy. Harry trusted me to take care of his son and now I've pawned him off on my brother while I have a breakdown. Great. But if I can't even stop this swell of emotion for Teddy, I'm well and truly fucked.

I hear the front door close, and I desperately hope that it's Harry come back early. I want him here, too. The footfalls on the steps are too heavy to be Harry, and the head that peers around the door is too tall and too ginger. Ron's face seems to soften at the sight of me undone. Maybe this is what he expected from me at the port? Maybe the fact I didn't break into hysterics at the sight of them is what set off his temper? Maybe he thought I was fine?

I'm so not fine.

I'm better in the sense that I'm not numb. I'm trying to live again, which I couldn't necessarily say eight months ago. Really living. Maybe that's why I left Iceland? I knew I couldn't make it my home, even though it set off the urges for home more and more.

I'm vaguely aware of Ron entering the room fully. He watches us, arms crossed uncomfortably just inside the door. I see him turn to take in the room. I know he sees the framed photo of us from the night Fred died almost immediately. He whisks it off the dresser and stares, for how long, I don't know. Then he is sitting on my other side and I throw myself at him, my apologies renewed. He channels what's left of his anger into his fierce hug and I am further undone.

I must have fallen asleep at some point. I wake and the sunlight has faded, though winters this far north mean early sunsets, so it doesn't mean much. They've tucked me under the bed covers and there's a glass of water on the nightstand. I'm on Harry's side of the bed, though. It is closer to the door, and that was mostly because we figured Teddy would have a more direct line to him when he came charging in first thing in the morning, or sometimes if he shimmied out of his crib after a nightmare.

I need to know what's happening, though. I step into the bathroom to splash water on my face. Teddy is in fresh pyjamas and sleeping in his crib. I double check the baby monitor is still on and pull the blanket up under his chin before ducking out. I creep down the stairs. It smells heavenly, but it's a meal already finished. I crouch down on a step to spy when I see a group of four men sat around the table, three red-haired and one black.

"I promise you I wouldn't have let him around Teddy if I thought he had those sorts of problems. I didn't even have to ask him to quit smoking. He chose to on his own before he started living here."

Ron mutters something I can't pick out from here.

Harry shakes his head. "No, I would have noticed. I haven't seen any track marks, he doesn't have erratic behaviour, he never has dilated pupils or glassy eyes. He never smells like anything suspicious. His mood swings are no different than mine - usually has to do with not wanting to talk about something that needs talking about. Plus, the ports require drug tests for security clearances, so he must have passed before he started working at Ara's. I imagine he's passed them regularly over the years."

"We didn't know what to expect after all this time, but we tried to prepare ourselves for the worst, just in case," Dad says diplomatically.

"I understand, but if he was ever like that, I doubt it lasted long."

"Has he talked to you about what happened? Do you know?" Bill asks.

Harry shifts uncomfortably and takes a sip of his whisky. He hardly ever drinks. I think this is the fourth time in six months he's had alcohol of any kind. "Not in much detail. He shares stuff about all of you. Like the video of your girls singing at the Christmas pageant and photos of baby Lucy when she was born. He's started telling more stories from his childhood, but he doesn't always use names. I think some of them are about Fred, but they could just as easily be about one of you."

"Do you know what happened?"

"To Fred?" Harry clarifies, and Bill nods. "Yeah, I do." Harry admits, which shocks me a bit. "But not because he told me. I did a bit of, well, cyber stalking, honestly, before I let him interact so much with Teddy. I read Fred's obituary. I thought it was beautifully written. I loved the stories you included. I thought someone who grew up in a family like that could probably be trusted, yeah?" Harry looks up to gauge reactions before pressing on. "George doesn't know that I know, and I only know the facts as they were reported in one news article. I felt like I had crossed a line, so I stopped my researching at that."

"Do you want to know more?" Ron asks after a moment.

"I do, but unless you feel you need to talk about it for yourself, I'd rather wait to hear it from George. No matter how long it takes to get there," Harry states, politely. "He never pushed me to talk about my problems. Well, maybe once, but he backed off once he realised it was making me uncomfortable. He is very sweet."

Ron huffs a laugh, "oh, I'm not so sure about that."

"May I ask what your plan is?" Harry asks, turning back to look at Dad.

"Well, Bill and Ron can only stay another day before they need to head home. I was going to play it by ear. I have leave stored up at work. I'm old enough they'll believe I contracted any number of ailments, if I'm pressed for time. Molly does enjoy spinning yarns every now and then." Dad winks at Harry and swirls a chocolate digestive through his tea.

"I don't know if George got around to inviting you, but you're welcome to stay here as long as you need."

"Thank you, Harry. We'll just have to take you up on that."

"What's your plan about George, though?" Harry asks, tentatively. His voice sounds almost pained.

"What do you mean?" Dad asks, fixing Harry with his confused gaze.

Harry steels himself and asks, "do you mean to bring him home with you?"

Dad's gaze turns to a sad smile, and he reaches out to pat Harry's arm. "He's happy here. That's what this is all about after all. We just needed to know he's alright. I don't know if he's told you what he was like after he was discharged from the hospital, but... it wasn't good."

Harry nodded. "He's mentioned the alcohol poisoning. That you had to move him home because he wasn't taking care of himself."

"It was more than that," Bill says quietly, but doesn't expand on it, thankfully.

Harry stiffens minutely before nodding again. "Right."

"We weren't even sure he was alive until August. We searched for him, of course, but it's hard to file missing person's reports when they've left of their own accord. Especially trying to find someone on the continent - local police were able to track him far enough to know he'd left the UK. We thought we'd get a call in the middle of the night from a French hospital or a Dutch prison or something like that, telling us to come pick up our son, but it never happened. We tried to have hope that he was doing better with space from all the reminders of Fred. We hoped he was coming to terms with things on his own and he'd be back, but then he didn't come back. Didn't call. Didn't write. He was in such a bad way before he left. I can't describe it. We've been worried for so long. We had to know. We just had to."

"I can't imagine what that was like for you."

"To answer your question, though, Harry," Dad says, breaking the silence that had descended, "it isn't our plan to drag him home to Devon. Not since he seems to be doing so well. If he'd been in a different state, we'd have tried to get him to come home or into a rehab programme, if needed. What we want most is to establish a relationship again. We miss him dearly. My wife worries constantly, but she tries not to show it. She was in such a state after his phone call. She didn't want to leave the house for fear we'd miss him if he called again. Ron's girlfriend, Hermione, helped us set up a call forwarding whosey-whatsits, and that set us at ease. When we have the whole family in for holidays, even through all the chaos of so many people, his absence weighs on us all. We want our son back in the fold. But I'd rather have him there on his own terms. Molly and the other kids stayed home even though they wanted to come. We didn't want to overwhelm him. There are fourteen of us, now, after all," he chuckles good-naturedly in a way that's all dad.

I've been spotted from my perch on the stairs. Bill holds my gaze briefly as he cuts in. "We don't really want much. We grew up with him after all; we know how bloody stubborn the bastard can be. We want to be able to text him and have him text back. We want him on our family video chats. We want him to visit occasionally for holidays, birthdays, things like that. We want to share good news, relay bad news, exchange advice. I want my girls to know their uncle, even if we only see each other in person once a year. We want to interact and have peace of mind that he's alive and thriving on a day to day."

I can tell Bill is looking at me again, but I've hung my head. My fingers grip roughly at my hair. He's really not asking for much. I text Harry constantly. I text Sigridur and sometimes Tommy. And video chats? That's how I won over Teddy. I may not have come back to Harry if it weren't for our calls. How many times in the last six months have I wanted to ask some member of my family for dating advice, childminding tips, gift guidance, a pick-me-up, a reassurance that no, just one cigarette isn't going to make me feel better? I want that contact. I don't deserve it, but I want it.

But this seems so final. This is a turning point. Whatever I choose, I can't go back. I'm in or I'm out. If I start, I can't drop out again. The last thing I want is to keep hurting them. I don't trust myself. I never had to before because I had Fred to trust.

_You have me now, too. Have I ever steered you wrong?_

Yes, you got me stabbed in Turkey.

_That doesn't count._

The hell it doesn't.

_It was barely a scratch! I was right about Sigridur. I was right about Harry. I was right about that phone call. I was right about the letter. I was right about the master bedroom. Did you listen to me? No. Did it get blown out of proportion because of that? Yes._

_I'm right about this. It's time. You may not get another shot and it's fucking time._

"Hey," Harry says, running his hands down my wrists, forearms, and back up to my biceps, as he crouches in front of me. My family can't see us now that I'm not snooping over the low wall of the stairs.

"Hey," I grunt in return. "You're home early."

Harry nods. "I was worried about you. I knew you hadn't talked to them in a while. I wasn't sure how it'd go. Alicia came and relieved me, but she wasn't free until after six."

I've pulled one hand away from my hair to grip Harry's arm instead.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, and I shrug noncommittally. "What are you thinking?" he asks in a low whisper. I know it won't carry to my family below, who I expect are trying to listen in shamelessly.

I lick my lips to gather myself. I search Harry's concerned face wondering if he would stand by me if I made the wrong choice. "I don't want to let them down again. I can't."

"Okay."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for this."

"You don't have to plunge in head first, George. We can take it slow. I'll be there with you, if you let me."

I laugh bitterly. "There's no such thing as slow with the Weasley's. They don't do anything by halves."

Harry smirks, "yeah, I'm well aware of that. I very fondly remember what happened there in the kitchen the first night we met."

I can't help but grin wolfishly and waggle my eyebrows. "I live to serve."

Harry moves to sit by my side. Our conversation stays hushed. "I'll support you, whatever you choose, George. But I have to say, I'm in favour of whatever plan keeps you here. I know that's selfish of me, but I... I don't want to lose you, too."

I bring his wrist up to my mouth for a kiss, then place my face in his open hand. "You won't. This is home now. I could never leave."

"I love you. So much." He pulls me to his shoulder and we don't speak.


	8. Unguarded Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted December 2nd - 5,445 words

I toss and turn that night once we've set up Dad in the guest room. Ron and Bill left for the hotel, since their stuff was there and they'd already paid for the night. They will be back in the morning after checking out. I try not to wake up Harry, but I'm not sure he ever fell asleep. He can be quite the insomniac on an average day and he's always been a light sleeper. Just as I'm about to start speaking to the man, he takes a heavy breath with a sound no waking person could imitate. I'm immediately annoyed this tosser actually fell asleep before I remember he was awake for the last forty hours straight because of work. I fold my arm over my eyes as I try to stay on my back so as not to jostle Harry again.

I try every trick I can think of to fall asleep - counting sheep, daydreaming, singing a song in my head. Somewhere between lip syncing _Careless Whisper_ and contemplating darting off to the loo for a quick wank, I fall asleep. I only realise this as I open my eyes moments later to the room illuminated by softly filtered sunlight through the curtains. The bed is warm from Harry at my side, propped up against the headboard, typing a message out on his mobile. Halfway through an impressively satisfying yawn and stretch it dawns on me that it's a Tuesday in late January, and on any normal Tuesday in winter, I should have left for work three hours before the sun fully graces us with her shine. I jerk upright with a horrified gasp.

"I'm late," I state, throwing the covers off just as I fumble for my mobile to see just how late I actually am. 8:07 am. "Shit! I'm so late!"

"Slow down, love," Harry implores, letting his mobile drop to his lap.

"Why didn't you wake me!" I cry, betrayed, before diving into the hamper for something to wear.

"I turned off your alarm," Harry says, calmly, holding eye contact, knowing I won't be happy about that. "I called Ara this morning and told him you had family drop in unexpectedly and you weren't able to make it in today. He was fine with it. Said you could work Friday if you want the hours, but he won't be fussed either way. Said there aren't many projects this week, so it's a good time for it."

I stare at him, incredulous, and then deflate, dropping my trousers back into the hamper. "Why?"

Harry shrugs. "I thought you could use the time with your family. Plus, Teddy's still sick. Thought we could handle it better together. I've just emailed McGonagall telling her I'm taking the day off. I'm still on-call, though, so cross your fingers it's a low-crime week."

We check in on Teddy together, and all three of us make our way down stairs still clad in pyjamas. I stop short on the stairs when I hear a familiar voice.

"No, dear, I said you have to _fluff_ them. _Fluff_ them."

"Mollywobbles, I have no idea what you mean. They are eggs, not pillows."

"Oh, honestly! You've been watching me do this for nearly forty years! It should not take this much hand holding!"

"Well, in my defence, you're usually facing away from me in the kitchen, so it's not your hands I get to watch."

I mentally cringe at the implication as Fred dry heaves in my head. It's so weird hearing your parents flirt.

_Breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Do it with me George, we'll get through this together!_

"Arthur, just watch me for a moment. Tilt the bowl like this, and turn the whisk like this, nice circular motion with your wrist, and then speed it up." A tinny clicking noise drifts up to us, and it seems that Dad video conferenced Mum for a breakfast tutorial. Harry smirks as he comes to the same conclusion.

"Is that your mum, then?" he whispers, and I nod, a smile stretching my face as my dad calmly exclaims, "Oh, dear! I don't think that's supposed to happen."

"Arthur! You tilted the bowl too far! You're wasting ingredients! Stir your pan, or the veggies will burn! Then get another egg!" Mum sounds exasperated that she can't reach through the screen and take over dad's failed attempts at cooking. In his defence, he never did attempt much more than tinned soup and sandwiches when mum wasn't around.

There's a clatter, a surge of sizzling, another ''oh, dear,'' and an exasperated sigh. I figure it's time to rescue the poor man. Harry enters the kitchen first, holding out Teddy to Dad like a lifeline.

"Morning Arthur! Thanks for starting breakfast, it smells delicious. Could you take Teddy for a mo?"

Dad greets the tyke animatedly and doesn't seem to mind Harry subtly pushing him away from the cooker and the column of steam rising from the pan that is moments away from becoming smoke. Harry grabs a bowl and dumps the veggies into it to keep them from burning, cutting the kitchen noise down to nil in an instant. I take up the abandoned bowl of half-heartedly stirred eggs and begin fluffing like my mummy taught me.

I focus on my task for a few moments, stopping to add seasoning and the egg Harry's handed me. I know I'm in frame of dad's mobile propped up against the flour canister. I sneak a few glances at mum as she watches me work, silently. The look on her face is almost more than my delicate composure can take, but I finally break the silence.

"Frittatas, Mum? Really? Bit ambitious, since I'm pretty sure dad might still need lessons for beans on toast," I tease, not looking at the camera.

She chuckles wetly. "I just wanted you to have a nice meal."

I look at her, tear tracks on her face in contrast to her warm smile, and I smile shyly through my sleep mussed beard. Her hair is more grey than red now, and her face is slimmer and has new lines, but she's still mum. She doesn't speak as Harry and I work to get the eggs and veg ready for the oven. Dad has retreated to the sitting room with Teddy where they are working on an oversized puzzle. Teddy is subdued this morning, but won't be deterred from fun by his illness.

With the frittata in the oven and the timer set, a charged silence settles between me, Harry, and dad's phone. Harry breaks it by clearing his throat. "It's, er, really nice to meet you, Mrs. Weasley. I'm Harry. I've heard a lot about you." He waves at the camera just as he shifts his feet uncomfortably.

"Oh, please, dear, call me Molly. And I'm very glad to meet you, too," Mum says warmly. Harry nods and exits frame, giving me a pointed look as he begins to make up breakfast for Teddy. We both know the kid won't eat this frittata. It's too green for a toddler on the best of days.

"So, er, how are you, Mum?" I ask, rubbing the back of my neck and still struggling to make prolonged eye contact.

"Oh, you know me. I'm getting on. Keeping busy. I've just passed that post-Christmas slump where the sweaters are all knit and the fudge is made, and I don't know what to do with myself, but the church quilt drive is starting up next week, so I've been browsing ideas on Pinterest - I'm looking for a new challenge. The ladies and I will also start working on new alter dressings for Easter just as soon as we can talk Dolores out of this ghastly pink colour scheme she's got her heart set on. She continues to be the most trying woman I've ever met."

"Yeah, I remember her," I say with a grimace. "'Trying' is an understatement considering we once overheard Reverend Tofty say, 'she could make a saint swear.' Fred insisted it was one of the funniest things he ever heard."

_It fuckin' was. I stand by that claim to this day. I dare you to try to think of something funnier._

Mum rolls her eyes fondly as she tosses a tea towel over her shoulder and moves to take a seat at the table. "How were your holidays, George?" she asks lightly.

"Er, yeah, good. It was just us three, but we had a nice time. Harry has a family recipe for this mushroom and wild rice concoction I think you would like. Our neighbour, Mrs. Sprout, had a New Year's party for all her friends. She's older than you and dad, and so were most of the other guests, yet I don't think I've had my bum pinched so many times by so many strangers in such a short window of time. Maybe you would know -- have there been recent advancements in arthritis treatments? Because they were pinching _hard_ ," I say earning a laugh from mum. "Needless to say, we didn't stay long. We just had Harry's office Christmas party on Friday night, so the holiday season is officially over for us now. Got the decorations all packed away on Saturday and everything."

"That sounds lovely, dear. I'm glad you had people to celebrate with," mum says in a strained voice, and the tentative rhythm of our conversation dies with her words. Her eyes dart around and she clears her throat tightly before a thought flashes across her face. "Oh! I forgot to remind your father, but I...well, I hope you don't mind but... I knitted you a jumper. I had to guess the measurements from the photos.... I aimed on the larger size to be sure, so I hope you like it. I made them for Harry and Teddy, too. I hope they like the colours," she says, anxiously, then waves dismissively, shaking her head, "it was silly of me, I know."

"It's not silly at all. I sort of outgrew my last jumper a while ago. It'll be brilliant to have one again. So, thank you! And Harry will love his, too, I'm sure. He's a sucker for all that homemade gift stuff. I bet he'll get all emotional thinking about how much time and care you put in." It's supposed to sound playfully scathing, but instead I only manage to convey just how sincerely fond I am of the man.

"Well, then," mum says, blushing slightly, "I'm glad they won't go to waste."

Harry has joined Dad and Teddy on the sofa, trying to coax the boy into eating as he continues to play. I appreciate the privacy even if they can both still hear us if they try to listen, I'm sure.

"So," Mum starts, pauses, then asks suggestively, "you and Harry?"

I huff out a laugh then smile and nod at her lack of subtlety. "Yeah. Me and Harry. That doesn't... bother you, does it?"

"Well, I don't know him well yet," she hedges, "but he seems like a fine, young man on first impressions. Not completely incompetent in the kitchen, so he's got a leg up on your father. Ron seems to think highly of him, and he's always been the most difficult to win over."

I chuckle, because of course they've already started gossiping about us. Saves me some trouble, I guess. I don't know if she knows how much it means to me that she went straight to assessing Harry's character rather than addressing my real question. I don't know what else I was expecting. But it occurs to me that maybe it wasn't a surprise to mum. Maybe she's known all along. Maybe she's known longer than Ginny? Maybe Dad told her about everything I got up to before I ran. Maybe all the conversations that ended in, "mum doesn't need to know about this, alright? Let's just make sure this never happens again," finally got back to her. Percy really is the only one I had reason to worry about all this time. Fred's 'I told you so' echoes around my head. "A ringing endorsement. Harry'll be pleased to hear that."

We keep chatting until the timer sounds for the frittata. It's not quite up to mum's standards, but it's definitely a success considering the state of things when Harry and I intervened. As if on cue, the door bell rings as soon as I serve the first slice. Ron and Bill dutifully take up their plates, and we end the video chat with mum before we dig into our meal with all the fervour one would expect of the Weasley clan. Even Percy.

The morning passes in relaxed conversation in the sitting room. Teddy's fever holds steady, and while he seems to be feeling better than yesterday evening, he is still prone to fits of crankiness. I lead dad, Bill, and Ron off to Hagrid's to get some fresh air when Harry tries to get the kid down for a nap around lunch. I give them the grand tour of our neighbourhood, which includes such sights as, 'the turn we take for the bike path that goes down to the river and comes out at Leith,' and 'the flat where one of the childminders we tested out when Mrs. Sprout was visiting her family lives -- we didn't much like her.' We pass by the chemist, grocer, used book store, Saint Stuffy, our second and third favourite coffee shops (because unfortunately our favourite is not conveniently located) before we walk across the edge of campus and make it to Hagrid's.

Even though we arrive as the lunch rush begins, Hagrid makes constant conversation with us. His interest in my family is heart-warming in its own way, and has me feeling over emotional all over again. He insists on snapping a family photo for us out in front of his shop, which Ron immediately uploads to Instagram and captions 'Sighted: George Weasley in the flesh... well, in the beard, to be more precise.' Hagrid's massive hand gives me a firmer-than-normal pat on the shoulder as we part. I wave off the proud smile he shoots me, less effective than normal since I am holding two giant thermoses of his specialty blend tea.

"So, how would you feel about a family video call this evening?" Bill asks as we walk back. Dad and Ron are walking a little ahead of us, laden with the heavier bags of food. I stiffen at his words and breath out slowly through my lips.

"All of them or...?" I trail off, nervously.

"Yeah, Fleur and the girls, Mum, Ginny, Percy, Audrey, and Hermione. We haven't heard back from Charlie whether he can make it. You don't have to, but if you don't it'd be good to call them each individually in the next few days. They're all anxious to speak with you."

I nod along as I process. "Yeah, okay. Best to get it all over with."

"Way to make it sound like a budget meeting."

"Speaking as a career lackey, I have no idea what budget meetings are like," I quip back.

"Do you think you'll get back into engineering?" Bill asks.

_Wow, what a topic to unpack._

"I dunno, Bill. I only just gave up migrant life three months ago. I wouldn't say I have any solid plans besides staying in Edinburgh at the moment."

He nods, knowingly. "I'm just saying you live quite close to the campus here."

"Well spotted," I comment, since we are currently walking through the University of Edinburgh campus.

"Lots of engineering firms here, too. I'm sure there's someone here who'd take you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Bill shrugs. "Might have to clean up a bit though. Get trousers that don't even remotely smell of fish."

I inhale a hissing breath. "That's a tall order. How about I just trim up my beard?"

"I think your rogue whiskers need a bit more than a trim, George. What did Mum have to say about it?"

"She didn't."

"Ah, well, it's only a matter of time," Bill predicts.

"Wait til she finds out about my tattoo."

"Bah," Bill says dismissively, "Charlie beat you to that one. Ginny, too."

"That doesn't mean she won't lecture, though," I reason, before instructing, "turn here."

"Oi!" Bill calls up to Dad and Ron who've managed to get half a block ahead of us, and waves them back. He questions me, "why didn't you stop them?"

I shrug, "If the cocky bastards don't want to pay attention to my tour and decide to walk ahead of us, then they get to find their own way back."

"Jesus, some things never change," Bill sighs, fondly.

\--**--**--**--

After lunch Harry convinces me to take the Weasleys on a tour of Edinburgh, and by that I mean that Harry wrote down a list of places for us to go and instructions not to come back until there was a tick mark by each location. I get more details about what's been happening in my family's lives - the stuff that doesn't end up on social media. Like that Bill and Fleur have had two miscarriages, one after Victoria and another in early summer before their trip to France. They want another baby, but Fleur's been struggling with anxiety in the aftermath.

Ron and Hermione broke up for four months after Ron proposed on New Year's Eve last year. Apparently Hermione felt like he was pressuring her into giving up her career aspirations to be a housewife, so it seems Ron's regrettable habit of putting his foot in his mouth persists. It was an odd separation since they never stopped living together in their flat in Cambridge. During that time, Hermione dated a classmate that, it turned out, legitimately wanted her to be a housewife even though her standing in the law programme was far superior to his. Through a series of overdramatic events the two lovebirds patched things up, though they still aren't engaged.

Percy and Audrey are doing well, although Percy did end up in hospital for exhaustion by overworking himself after little Molly was born. They bought a flat in London that was a bit over their budget, and with that on top of their other debt from school and credit cards, Percy ended up working two jobs to make ends meet. That's one of the difficulties of growing up poor - you desperately want nice things once you get a bit of money, and things can get out of hand in a hurry if you aren't careful. They're doing well now that Fleur helped them renegotiate their loan payments and worked through budgeting tips with the young couple.

Mum had a little scare two years ago with a very minor heart attack. Dad is very adamant to point out how minor an incident it was. Bill explains that it's because mum and dad are still defensive about how they didn't tell any of the kids until three weeks after mum was home from having the stent put into one of her arteries, and that was just to let them know about dietary restrictions before the kids sent over Mother's day gifts. She didn't want them wasting money on things she couldn't have. All my siblings now ask very pointed questions about both mum's and dad's health, because as much as they don't want us worrying about them, they would never lie to us outright. Dad pulls me aside to explain that mum is still quite embarrassed about the whole thing and he requests that I not mention it directly if I can help it. They made changes to their diet and mum joined a local walking group that meets every morning, rain or shine. She's taking much better care of herself, so no one needs to worry.

Charlie is flourishing in the Air Force, still enjoying it enough that he has no plans for a career change. I am surprised to hear he was in a pretty serious relationship the year after Fred died, and he's been in a weird place since he discovered she was using him to cheat on her long-time boyfriend, now husband. Charlie wasn't interested in being the bit on the side, and now mum's worried he'll never settle down.

Ginny has sworn off men since something happened with her boyfriend at uni. As far as anyone in the family knows, she hasn't dated in nearly two years, which is odd because she's only been single for days to maybe weeks at a time between boyfriends since she was fifteen. Bill says she refuses to talk about it, insisting it was a normal breakup, but pretty much everyone in the family assumes something bigger happened. Bill refuses to speculate to me, but thinks I should talk to her about it. See if she'll open up to me, since we used to be so close.

"So, has anything _good_ happened since I left?" I finally ask Bill after getting the rundown of all the bad things that have happened in the last three years. Guilt roils in my stomach and I can tell Fred is not happy with me, but is thankfully holding his tongue.

Bill furrows his brow in confusion, like he doesn't understand the question. "Yeah, of course. Dominique was born. Both the girls are walking and talking. Never a dull moment at mine. I've gotten funding for my projects for the next few years and I've been asked to give a lecture at a university in America later this year."

"Oh, look at you!" I say, impressed.

"Too right. Let's see, Charlie is Charlie. He's had grand adventures and he continues to be a hit with the ladies, so everything's good there. Percy got married and had Molly and now Lucy. Audrey is not a Tory, so they have a general rule to not discuss politics at the table, which has worked out great for all of us - at the holidays in particular. We've all gotten promotions or better jobs. I'm pretty sure Percy paid off his student loans. Ron and Ginny graduated. Since they got back together, Hermione and Ron are trying to spend more time together, like going on dates and such. She keeps roping him into little activities like pottery lessons, glass blowing, yoga, cooking classes... she sends along photos of everything. She promised Ron they wouldn't end up on social media, so she just texts them to us. It's sort of hilarious, because he's always scowling in the photos, but -don't tell him I said this - not all of his art stuff has been shit. He learned to make baklava and it is delicious. I think he secretly enjoys every minute of it, but you know he and Hermione get off on the sexual tension from bickering.

"Ginny's playing football professionally in the top league in the country, so I mean, epic bragging rights, right? She isn't entirely happy with her team, but the big thing is she made it. She just has to keep playing well enough that another team will want to make a trade for her. Mum and Dad are doing well financially now that all of us are out of the house. Dad's started a little small engine repair scheme out of the shed for friends and neighbours, and he gets a real kick out of it. He's working toward retirement in the next few years," Bill finishes with a shrug. "Life's been pretty decent, actually. And now we've found you."

We've caught up with Dad and Ron again. They keep wandering ahead of us because neither have ever understood what a leisurely stroll is supposed to be. Ron because he is impatient and easily bored, and dad because of his natural energy.

"What about you? Tell us the gossip of the last few years on your end," Bill says as we walk down the path on our way to find a coffee shop along the Royal Mile between Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Palace.

I shrug, "not much to tell, honestly."

"Oh, go on. You had this grand adventure! Tell us about it. A censured version is acceptable if it makes you uncomfortable to talk about the juicier bits," Bill goads me.

I sigh heavily. "Honestly, there really isn't much to tell. I drank and smoked too much in The Netherlands, ran out of money, lucked into a job on a ship. I pretty much stopped drinking, or at least if I did drink it wasn't more than like, a pint. I worked until I got bored of the place or the people, or sometimes if I got to feeling too comfortable. I'd pick up everything and move on to the next thing. If I got lonely I found company for a night. Two and a half years on, everything I owned fit in my rucksack. I have stories from the trawlers that are funny, but... I just sort of... existed. I guess things started to change in Iceland. Sigridur reminded me a lot of mum. I started feeling really homesick there, but I just... I don't know... I convinced myself you'd all be too angry with me to want me to come back. I didn't think Harry would get under my skin like he did. It was just supposed to be a one off, but then I stayed for a few days and started to really get to know him and Teddy. Then I went off to the job and Harry would text me and I'd text back. I really looked forward to talking to him. It turned into phone calls, then video chats with him and Teddy, then the job ended and I didn't have anywhere to go, so I thought I'd visit Harry again, and Hagrid found me a job, so I've stayed. I didn't think it'd be so serious between us, but I can't imagine leaving now."

Dad, Bill, and Ron all give me a range of pitying glances. I think they've gotten it into their heads over the few hours we've spent together that my life with Harry _now_ is reflective of what the last three years have been like, but reality is much more... pitiable, honestly. But I don't deserve their pity, so I wrack my brain for something.

"Young Scottish women mistake me for Ed Sheeran, like, all the time," I say to change the subject.

_Deflect, deflect, deflect._

Ron scrunches up his face, looking me over again, like he has to double check whether they have a point. "You don't look anything like Ed Sheeran."

"Yeah, that's what Harry says, too. Every time. But it keeps happening," I explain with an incredulous shrug.

"They'd figure it out pretty quick if they ever heard you sing," Bill states.

 _Oi! That's_ my _voice they're insulting just as much as yours. Tell them off, Georgie._

No, no, they get this one.

"Does that happen to any of you?" I ask.

"Nah, I'm too tall," Ron says, dismissively.

"Too good looking," Bill comments, pointing a thumb back at himself.

"Too bald," Dad quips, and we all stare at him for a moment before laughing.

"Bunch of fucking comedians, you lot are."

We don't get to everything on the list Harry made. I take off everything that requires a tour guide. We only have so much time before sunset, after all. After Holyrood Palace, I convince them to hike up to Arthur's Seat for a vista of Edinburgh. There aren't many people in the park considering the weather and the time of day. We continue swapping stories as the sun sets. We take photos, which Bill and Ron upload to Instagram with various witty captions. At one point during our outing, they bought a paper so I could take a 'proof of life' photo. At least I'm not the only one with a sick sense of humour in my family. In the time since Ron posted the photo at Hagrid's to the time we get back home after dark, I have received twelve texts from old friends, including Angelina, Lee, and Oliver. I guess coming back into the Weasley fold brings along friendships as well as family. I keep my replies brief for now, but the important thing is I've actually replied. I try not to let the pressure I feel overwhelm me, and it's easier with Harry at my side and Teddy squirming in my lap.

The video conference is chaos, but it goes about as well as I could have hoped for considering the range of emotions we Weasleys employ. I feel like there's a glaring spotlight on me, and Fred has abandoned me for the occasion. Harry is at my side, and bless him, he deflects for me when things start to tense up. Fleur is a god-send, using the girls as a distraction whenever things get a bit heated. I guess working in a bank probably prepares you for tense conversations. Charlie joins us forty-five minutes into the call, interrupting a lecture from Percy that makes me want to pull my hair out. Harry's grip on my knee under the table and the promise of one hell of a blowjob if I keep my composure are the only things keeping me from storming off. I can tell Percy isn't comfortable with me and Harry, but he holds his tongue from saying anything direct for now, at least.

I can tell Ginny is bursting to talk about things she wouldn't want to share with everyone. Fred and I always had a special bond with our sister, and as much as I feel guilty for putting mum and dad through hell these last three years, I suspect Ginny took my absence the hardest. There is a steeliness in her eyes I don't remember seeing before. I can see what Bill was talking about, and I resolve to get her to confide in me. I have plenty of stories I don't want even Harry to know yet that I can trade with Ginny, if needed.

I'm surprised by how well Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Harry get along. Once they turn the conversation to work, then football we end up on that tangent for a significant amount of time. Hermione may not be a huge fan of football, but after this long with Ron she can speak intelligently about the game when she needs to. But, as always, she's just as informed about the social issues surrounding the sport as she is with the sport itself. Harry just can't get over the fact I'm related to a professional footballer. He is borderline fangirling my sister and it's only my knowledge of Harry's singular preferences for men that keeps any flares of jealousy at bay.

Mum and Dad mostly sit back and watch the conversation unfold. Bill, as the oldest, is the unofficial moderator. Charlie provides the comedic relief since I'm too tense to think about it. Harry, the brown-noser, is wearing his Weasley sweater proudly. It's a little big on him, but I can't blame mum since she was going off a photo of him bundled up against the wind. Teddy's jumper has a bunny on it and his little mind is blown. His tiny fingers keep tracing the outline of the bunny on his chest and mum can't help but watch him, sitting comfortably on my lap, with a soppy, grandmotherly expression. I put Teddy to bed while the call continues, giving them time to ask Harry any uncomfortable questions, like whether he's sure I'm not a drug addict like Dad, Bill, and Ron did last night.

By the time I get back, Fleur and Audrey have left to put their kids to bed, and Percy immediately says his goodbyes so he can 'help,' though I strongly suspect he meant to say 'escape.' Our chat continues, people sharing little tidbits here and there, but eventually, the threat of work in the morning prompts our goodbyes.

We get Ron set up on the sofa for the night, and Dad and Bill share the guest bed. I say my goodbyes to them, since I'll be up and off for work early in the morning before they'll be awake. I check in on Teddy one last time, before reminding Harry that he promised one hell of a blow job, and I behaved myself. Harry delivers in spades. Not one to be outdone, I make sure we both go to sleep sated and boneless.


	9. Sorrow, Sorrow, Sorrow, Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted December 6th - 3,290 words
> 
> Chapter title from The Proclaimers song 'Sunshine on Leith.'

Bill and Ron leave Wednesday morning as they had planned, since they both have to work on Thursday. Dad decides to stay through the weekend, watching Teddy while I take my shifts at Ara's. Once Teddy starts feeling better, Dad and I spend the afternoons adventuring to the little man's favourite places, like the science centre, the zoo, the park, and our favourite spots in Leith. Harry's low-crime luck runs out at about three-thirty on Thursday morning, so he is too busy picking up 'peas' and finger printing 'asparagus' to skive off and join us the rest of the week.

I pay for Dad's train ticket back to Devon. It's only right, considering everything I put them through. Not to mention the effort they went through to not only find me, but to ease me back in so seamlessly over the course of just seven days. He's managed to coax out more of my story, and given the advice I've been looking for with regards to Harry and life, in general. We struggle through difficult and uncomfortable conversations about things like my mental, physical, and sexual health, but I remind myself that loving parents care about all aspects of their child's life and I'm lucky to have him. For the first time in three years, I'm considering future plans. Serious future plans, like the whole 'where do you see yourself in five years' plans, and I realise I don't want my future to involve welding at the docks. But how do I get myself there? Haven't I blown it? Dad doesn't think so. In fact, when I voice my concerns, he laughs in my face.

"You have a degree, George. You graduated. The last three years don't take that away. So what if there's a three year gap in your CV where you travelled the world doing manual labour along the way? That's not as uncommon as you'd think," Dad chuckles. "And having experience in a trade can actually make you more appealing to some companies."

"But what about references? I was supposed to --" Dad cuts me off with a raised hand.

"George. Trust me. The world is still your oyster," Dad reassures calmly. "When you've figured out what path you want to take, we'll find a way to frame this whole situation so that you can get what you want. There's no need to doubt or stress. We can do this."

The future can seem so overwhelming, and it isn't easy to keep my head on straight. Mum joins in for some of these serious conversations when Teddy is down for a nap in the early afternoons. Even though their presence in my life feels a bit suffocating at times because I'm not used to them being around anymore, I also can't believe I've gone this long without them. I wonder how Harry hasn't judged me for turning away from my family when he would do anything to have his back?

Harry has taken well to the Weasley family's presence in our lives. He lets dad speak at length about small engine repair. He lets mum fret over the three of us without taking offense. In just a few days, my parents have managed to unload an astonishing amount of parenting advice, for which we are truly grateful.

I don't know what the future will bring as I wave dad off on the platform. He's reluctant to get onto his carriage, waiting to board until after the lights begin to flash around the doors seconds before they close to the sound of incessant beeping. His "I love you," and "don't be a stranger" burn in my ears the entire walk back home.

\--**--**--**--

"What's up, love?" Harry murmurs in a tired voice that evening as he climbs into bed next to me. I'm biting at my nails and staring a hole in the duvet where my feet sit below. I'm the picture of nervous energy, even to the untrained eye. He doesn't press as I build up the courage for what I need to say.

"It was just a few weeks after we graduated from Bristol. Charlie's friend was getting married in London, so he was back for a long weekend. Ginny was the only one that couldn't make it since she was working a kiddie football camp in Leeds over the weekend. She tried to get out of it, but... she needed the money. Percy was living in London, sharing a tiny flat with four other blokes. It was before he met Audrey. Fred and I couldn't believe the mess. Ron came in from Birmingham where he was at uni with Hermione. Me, Fred, Ron, Bill, and Charlie all shared a posh hotel room in central London. We went drinking, ate brunch, went to a comedy club... stuff like that. It was brilliant getting to celebrate being done with school with my brothers. It had been forever since we'd seen Charlie.

"But then it was Sunday and we all had to make our way home. We had dropped off our bags at Percy's so we wouldn't have to lug them around all day. We watched Premiere League in a pub most of the day, and it was just nice. Chatting and eating and messing about. In the evening when we went to leave, Percy saw us off at the underground station nearest his flat. We didn't think to coordinate which stations to get our tickets from, so we each had to take the underground to different train stations. Bill was supposed to ride the underground out to Heathrow with Charlie to keep him company a bit longer before his flight, then he was going to take a later train home. Ron was on the Piccadilly Line as well, but he was going the opposite direction. Fred and I were on the District Line. We loitered together in the corridor chatting a bit more before we actually had to part ways. I got an American tourist to take our photo. The Weasley boys, all together. It's that one there," I say, pointing to the photo on the dresser I added just before Christmas. "That's the last photo of all of us together."

I swallow audibly, not wanting to talk about what I need to tell Harry. The story I've avoided like the plague. Even though I now know Harry has known at least the gist of this story since August, it doesn't make the words flow any easier. But dad said I needed to tell him, and I know he's right.

"Take your time, love," Harry whispers. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and plough ahead. 

"We'd missed the tube when we got to the platform. So Fred wanted to go back up to get a snack before the next one came. I didn't think we had time, plus I tried to convince him there'd be more options at the train station, anyway. I'd just won a tenner off Charlie - I don't remember what we had bet on - but Fred decided he wanted to steal it off me and get a snack. So we were horsing around on the platform, like we always did, fighting over my wallet. He pulled my shirt up over my head and took off running for the stairs. I started chasing after him, and this lady scolded us from the benches, and I remember Fred laughing and pulling a face at me over his shoulder.

"He wasn't that far ahead of me when the bombs went off. Three meters, maybe. I don't really remember it happening, like, the debris flying and ceiling collapsing. I sort of remember the noise, but not the images. I don't know if it's like, a psychological thing, or maybe a concussion thing, but I don't really remember the explosion itself. Maybe that's for the best.

"I didn't black out very long, though. I woke up and no one was moving. There was stuff on me and all around me. Bits of brick and glass and wood and metal. I'd been hurt, but I didn't really notice for the adrenaline. And confusion. I crawled out from the debris around me. One of the lights, the big dangly metal ones, had fallen on me. I remember having to move it.

"I was really disoriented when I stood up. I couldn't really hear properly, and there was only a little light to see by. There was some natural light coming down the stairs, and from the tunnel at the other end. I had to use the flashlight on my phone to see. The platform was unrecognisable. I think it's more that I just couldn't process what I was seeing. I couldn't orient myself. I couldn't tell which way we'd been walking. Which way Fred would be. I started searching for him, though. Pulling concrete and metal up with my bare hands. I don't remember how that felt, I just remember starting to panic because I couldn't find him. But then I saw his pack. And then his shoes. There was blood... everywhere," I croak out in barely a whisper. I take a shuddering breath to steady myself. "It should have been obvious that he was already gone. I mean, it _was_ obvious. There's no way he could have survived. It would have been instantaneous. People don't survive walls collapsing on them like that. And he didn't... look right. But I guess I wasn't in my right mind. I uncovered him as best I could and started CPR.

"That's how the others found us. I'm sure they heard the explosion from where they were waiting. Probably felt it, too. Charlie had to pull me off him. Honestly, I freaked out. I think I punched him. I was yelling at them that we had to help him. We had to save him. Either Bill or Ron was retching behind me. The only thing that calmed me down was Percy went over and started CPR instead. He said, 'I've got him George, don't worry. I've got him.' I guess they would have done anything to get me to stay still. Shrapnel," I explain, running a finger from my ear down my neck to my shoulder, then down my torso and thighs, across all the scars Harry is intimately familiar with. "I probably looked half dead, myself."

I clear my throat after a minute and continue my tale. "The police came, and the medics. I got carted off pretty quick, mostly because I was out, already, I think. All they had to do was put me on the gurney. Bill came with. Charlie and Ron stayed to help look for people. Percy stayed with Fred. They told me that, after. They didn't leave him alone."

Harry scoots even closer to me on the bed, wrapping an arm around my back. His fingers card through my hair, when I lean my head on his shoulder. He knows I find it soothing.

"I was in hospital for a while, recovering. I got an infection. That's part of why they had to take so much of my ear. I also don't have a spleen anymore. I had some internal bleeding, and they had to debride the skin on my neck. But I got better and they discharged me. I went home first. We all did, for the funeral. Then I insisted on going back to our flat in Bristol. I tried to get back into my routine. I went back to working at the shop, sort of but not really dating this bloke, hanging out with my friends. I managed it for a little while, but," I shake my head and sigh, "I don't know. At some point the anger just took hold of me and I lost myself."

Harry squeezes me in comfort as I mentally berate myself again for being so stupid. "I was devastated when I woke up after the operation. But then I saw the news, and I was so, so angry. You know, they called it a failed attack? They figured the bombs went off too early. They were unstable. Homemade by a bunch of amateur domestic terrorists. If they'd gone off an hour later, that platform would have been packed. There was a football match that would have just ended and there would have been hundreds of people walking through, making connections. But since it was only me, and Fred, and twelve other people, it was a _'blessing'_ it went off when it did. _'Divine intervention'_ I heard one reporter call it. My whole world was ripped apart and these fuckers were likening it to a miracle because _only_ six people died and it could have been so much worse? Argh!" I growl, sitting up straight again, roughly rubbing my face. "It made me so _fucking angry_."

I shake my head absently and resume chewing my nails as the memories and emotions surge. "But, yeah. Something snapped, I lost myself, and you know the rest after that. The drinking. The shagging. The altogether self-destructive behaviour. I had a go at my boss, but he was willing to let me off with a warning. I was already on thin ice for showing up late and hungover all the time by then. I didn't want his pity, so I quit. I picked a fight with some lads for no reason. Dragged my best mate into it, too, so we both got knocked about. He wasn't too happy with me after that. Dad and Bill collected me from the hospital after the second alcohol poisoning incident, saying I couldn't live alone if I was going to live like that. Part of why I was drinking was because I'd come to the conclusion I couldn't afford our flat on my own even if I did still have my job. I didn't want another roommate and I wasn't ready to leave yet. I didn't want to go through Fred's room, but I also couldn't ask my family or friends to do it for me. They ended up doing it anyway," I say, picking at the skin around my thumbnail.

"I continued to make bad decisions right under mum and dad's nose. I completely closed myself off emotionally, borderline suicidal. Burned bridges left, right, and centre. I ran away the week before Christmas, and... yeah. Here we are."

Harry watches me closely for a few moments, as if he expects me to keep talking. When I don't, he quietly asks, "why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you run away? Did something... trigger it?"

I stay quiet for a long moment, slowly shaking my head. "I told you Fred and I were identical. I could barely look at myself. I knew Fred was gone, but I guess I couldn't tell my brain that it needed to stop looking for him. I'd catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and it was like my brain would grab onto the image and get my hope up ahead of logic. And even though I looked different, especially with my hair so short and the scars so fresh, I still looked like him. I could see it in my family's faces, that they were going through the same thing. Their brains giving them a fleeting moment of 'oh, look! Fred's right here, so you can stop being sad!' It felt like I was tormenting them. It was tormenting me, so I imagined they felt the same. Anger wasn't my ruling emotion anymore and honestly, I think that was worse. Christmas was coming up and everyone was going to be home. I just didn't want to deal with it. The thought of it was exhausting. I thought I'd just fuck off for two weeks so I could avoid it all. Come back after New Year's. And then I just let my brain spiral about what it would be like for all the other important events coming up: Mum's birthday, my birthday, the anniversary....

"I was supposed to start school again. Bill had helped submit all the paperwork to defer my internship and postgrad for a term while I got my act together. Fred and I were going to be inventors together. We were going to have our own shop someday. We were supposed to be entrepreneurs. That's why I was going to do the master's programme. My whole future was intertwined with Fred and I couldn't see a way forward without him. I didn't know what to do. I felt so hopeless. I... I just couldn't deal, so I didn't. I was gone longer and longer, and I started to feel better, being removed from everything familiar. I didn't know how to be George Weasley, instead of Fred n' George Weasley, the twins, so I started figuring it out. It's more difficult than you'd think."

"I imagine so." Harry gives me a sad smile. "Thank you for telling me. I know it can't be easy to talk about."

I huff out a dark laugh at the understatement, then we lapse into another long silence.

"I know it's not the same, like, at all, but... I had to identify Remus and Tonks after the accident," Harry offers in a low voice. "I know I work in a field where I see horrible things on a daily basis, but there really isn't anything as horrible or as scarring as seeing your family broken and lifeless like that. Anytime I think about them now, that image I have of them in the morgue is the first one that pops in my head. I wish I could erase it. I feel like it changes the way I remember them, like I'm going to forget what they looked like alive. It's been a year that they've been gone and I already feel like I've forgotten so much. What am I supposed to do about Teddy when he asks me about them and I've forgotten the answer? I'm his only link to them now. I don't want to let them down," Harry confesses.

Well, if we're making confessions, I have one of my own to add. "I talk to Fred. In my head." Harry slowly turns his eyes back to me. "Not like, in a crazy way, but sometimes it's like he's there. I think it's just because we were always anticipating each other's next move or thought. I knew him better than I knew myself. So I imagine what he would think, or say, or do, but it isn't a conscious choice to imitate him. I don't sit around just thinking up conversations with Fred. It's like it actively happens in the moment. Like he's become my subconscious or something. He's full of witty quips or harsh criticism or suggestions - some helpful and some very _not_ helpful. We argue, he calls me names, he tries to help me work out how I'm feeling...." I shake my head again and sigh, "I don't know. I don't remember when it started exactly. I think, the first time I noticed was just before I moved on from my first job in Voldendam."

"Does it help?" Harry asks, absently massaging a tightness in his chest with his palm.

"It helps me, yeah. Makes me feel a bit like myself again. Less alone."

"Have I helped you?" Harry asks tentatively. "Do you feel better with me?"

"Yeah," I answer immediately. "I know it's a total cliché, but it's like a weight lifted from my chest since I've been with you. Like I can properly breathe again. Like it's okay to have a home again."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Harry nods his head and says with a finality in his voice, "I feel better with you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me so much trouble, which is probably why it's the shortest. Forgive me any stilted language or poor transitions, and thank you for sticking with me! We're almost there.


	10. If There's A God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this story when there wasn't a global pandemic, but I had quite a bit of time to finish it during one. I guess I couldn't escape reality even in my story. I hope you all are well. Thank you for your comments and kudos.
> 
> Posted December 9th - 8,210 words

"My ticket's been refunded," Ginny says, looking up from her phone, confused.

"What? Why?" I ask, from my spot on the sofa.

"It looks like the route's been cancelled," Ginny says, slowly as she scrolls through her phone screen.

"Really? That's weird."

Harry sighs heavily from the kitchen, "how many times do I have to tell you that this virus is a big deal. I fucking warned both of you!"

"They can't do this, can they?! This has to be a mistake! I have to get back to London for training! They can't just leave people stranded here in Scotland. That's no way to bump your tourism numbers," Ginny cries.

"Did you hear _anything_ that Percy said on the call yesterday? It's a lockdown. To protect people. That's what I've been saying the last few days. I told you both you should think about heading back early," Harry says, superiorly.

"Hmm," Ginny says, "and here I thought you just didn't like me."

"Since when have _I_ listened to a police man?" I ask.

Harry rolls his eyes, "I'm not a policeman."

"Close enough," Ginny quips. "Well, what am I supposed to do now?"

"Stay here, of course," Harry replies just as I offer up in song, "row, row, row your boat, gently down the coast--"

"Thank you! Really, but I meant about my _job_."

Harry shrugs, "well, it sucks, but there's not much you can do. I doubt your team will be able to practice for a while, considering the restrictions. And you won't be the only one from the team that's stranded coming back from break. Weren't some of your teammates going on grand European vacations?"

"Yeah, but only the ones making real money from the club," Ginny states bitterly. "And the ones with rich partners."

"Ah-ha!" I exclaim, "there's the answer to your problems! Go bag a rich guy and commandeer his private jet. Not a euphemism."

"No, she'll definitely have to put out," Harry adds, handing out the drinks before sitting next to me. "If not before, then definitely on the plane."

"I know that, I'm not an idiot," Ginny says, eating the orange slice off her glass rather than adding it to her beverage. "Guess I'll have to hunker down here, since I've sworn off men," she says with a dramatic sigh.

"I almost feel like I should be offended," Harry mutters to me, and I snort with all the grace of a Weasley.

"You're man enough for me, love," I assure him, patting his leg affectionately.

"What else does this lockdown entail?" Ginny asks, ignoring my display.

"I dunno, why don't you call Percy and ask him?" Harry suggests before heaving another heavy sigh at our expressions and dutifully explaining while both Ginny and I actually listen.

It's been great having my sister visit. We found that easy rhythm we had as kids, and we've managed to avoid pretty much every heavy topic we could in the last week. I know it isn't good to avoid things that could lead to an argument, but it's more like we both want to skip past that stuff we can work out over video chats and get to the fun, in-person stuff. Make up for lost time. Teddy is absolutely in love with Ginny and we've shown him a good time in the eight days she's been staying with us, enjoying the blossoming, fragrant, wet spring that the end of March brings.

Ginny is the only Weasley I've seen in person since Dad left in January. I thought mum would descend on us immediately after, but I think dad convinced her to give me space. That space has taken the form of regular video chats and biweekly care packages with sweets, easy-prep recipes, small kitchen gadgets, and homemade essentials like pillow cases and potholders. I hate that they're all so worried about spooking me into running away again, but if anything, that makes me want to stay even more just to prove them wrong. Mum and Dad are supposed to visit for my birthday, but if Ginny can't get out, I wonder what the chances are of them getting in.

"Does anyone remember whose turn it is?" Ginny asks, bringing us back to our game of canasta that had been abandoned very suddenly when Ginny finished her can of G&T.

"Mine," I call, automatically, and Harry glares, swatting my hand away as he reaches out to the deck to start his rightful turn.

"You better not teach Teddy that. I don't want him learning to fib too early."

"Well, if you're gonna do it, might as well do it right. No better way to learn than to start young. Really mould the mind around the concept," I tease.

"I'd rather use that concept to teach him French, not the art of lying. I don't know why I let the two of you be in the same room together," Harry mutters as he closes a meld and cries, "CANASTA!"

Ginny huffs in annoyance, "this isn't Uno, Harry. You don't get to yell out canasta every time."

"My house, my rules," Harry says, playfully.

"Just give him this, Gin," I stage whisper to my sister. "It's all he has."

\--**--**--**--

The reality of the lockdown sinks in over the next few days as I lose my job and Harry is instructed to work at home unless he's called out to a crime scene. Between making constant calls to try to get through to someone to file for jobseeker allowance benefits after the website crashes, I scramble to get groceries and other essentials for the long haul. We also learn that it's entirely possible for a toddler to get cabin fever after only three days. The same is true for Mrs. Sprout, who has taken to knocking on our shared wall in the kitchen to let us know when she wants to talk over the garden fence.

"Here you go, boys!" she says as she tosses a plastic bag over the fence. "You'll want to give those a wash before you use them. You've no idea where I've been."

"Um... thank you?" I say, not entirely sure what I'm holding.

"Oh, that's the enthusiasm I was looking for when I lugged my sewing machine down from the attic and ripped out seams from all those Halloween costumes to salvage the elastic. I swore off sewing in 1987 after Miriam finally quit the drama programme and I could excuse myself from the costume department at the local theatre," she says crossly. "I never wanted to fire up that monstrosity again. I haven't so much as hemmed a pair of trousers or sewn on a button in thirty-three years. Mrs. Malkin does all my alterations for me, but I called and she's overrun with requests for face masks, so here we are. You better treasure those, George Weasley, because I don't break oaths to myself lightly!" She finished by waggling her finger at me menacingly. It would have been more intimidating if I didn't know she was standing on the top step of her step stool in order to see over the fence.

"Thank you, Mrs. Sprout, truly," I say, placing a hand to my heart. "I don't know what we would do without you. Harry brought home a few disposable masks from work, but they've already started rationing them at the department since we don't know how long this will last. Harry's already managed to break the elastic on his so he had to tape it to one side of his face the other day. You're a lifesaver!"

Mrs. Sprout smiles fondly and looks around bashfully as I praise her, annoyance quickly forgotten. She waves me off, "oh, go on. It wasn't that much trouble. Those masks are at least easier than a dress worthy of a teenage Shakespeare production. Just don't look too close at the top stitching, alright?"

"I wouldn't know good stitching if it hit me over the head," I reply.

_Liar. I've hit you over the head with mum's hand-stitched pillows loads of times. Doesn't get much higher quality than that._

"How are you getting on over there? Besides breaking thirty-year oaths, that is," I ask, not acknowledging Fred's attempts to distract me.

"Thirty- _three_ years, young man. But alas.... My card club can't meet up with these restrictions, so it looks like I'll be cooking on Thursday nights, as well," Mrs. Sprout complains, throwing up her hands in horror. "Honestly. I haven't cooked or cleaned this much in years. And I tried to get a hold of the owner of the greenhouse I buy through and he says he isn't selling at the moment, can you believe it? He sounded truly upset when I suggested we try some sort of back alley deal. Wouldn't even consider it! Claims he has asthma and doesn't want to risk getting sick. I've been buying through him for nearly twenty years and this is the first I've heard of any 'asthma.'" Mrs. Sprout rolls her eyes and throws her hands up again. "What am I supposed to do about my garden?"

"Hmm, that's a tough one. Don't know if I can help much there," I say, taking a step back towards my door.

"Well, I tell you what you _can_ do, Mr. Weasley," she says, pausing until I tilt my head to her to show I'm engaged in the conversation. "You can tell that sister of yours that this fence is meant to keep what is over there," she says pointing to our garden, then points to her side of the fence, "from over here. She has already cost me a crop of seedlings with that accursed football. If I find it over here one more time, I will not hesitate to puncture it with my garden shears and use it as a flower pot. And so help me if she breaks a board in this fence, she will be repairing this _entire_ fence to _my_ specifications. It is _community property,_ after all."

"I'll pass it along, Mrs. Sprout. Right now, in fact." I wave as I jog back into the house to escape what I'm sure was about to become a tirade. I don't know how we've all lost our goddamn minds in such a short amount of time, but it's like being a teenager again. Railing on your parents for setting rules you don't want to follow but do anyway to avoid a stupid punishment.

 _Yeah, Georgie. We were_ really good _at following those pesky rules back in the day._

"Ginny! Stop using Mrs. Sprout's fence as a goal," I call upstairs as soon as I close the door behind me.

"Tell that crazy bint I'll--"

"LANGUAGE, GINNY!" Harry cuts in from the office before she can corrupt Teddy further. It's for the best that Teddy won't be in Sunday school for a while and we have time to hopefully erase certain expletives from his vocabulary before he returns and scars a church lady.

To prove the point, Teddy turns away from the telly and yells, "quiet, fuh fuzzsake!"

 _Heaven forbid we interrupt the music of_ In The Night Garden.

"JUST USE THE FENCE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GARDEN, GIN, CHRIST!" I call out before ripping open the doors to the laundry and dumping the masks in with a load of Ginny's clothes she had waiting after calling dibs earlier.

_Okay, you all need to chill the fuck out._

\--**--**--**--

"YOU DRIED MY BRA?!?!?!" Ginny storms into our bedroom, brandishing the garment at me that evening in a towering rage.

Harry rushes to pull his trousers back up, and says, "you can't just barge in here, Ginny. We're changing! I don't want you seeing me naked." Harry grabs his pyjamas and storms into the bathroom, closing the door sharply before the lock clicks into place.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Harry. I've seen it all before and I doubt you have anything that impressive going on anyway," Ginny says dismissively, just loud enough that I know Harry could hear, and turns her rage back to me. "You did this! What were you thinking?!"

"Okay, calm down. You don't get to speak to Harry like that. I don't care how mad you are. I don't even know what you're mad about, but this is Harry's home, he hasn't done anything wrong and it isn't his fault that you're stuck here, so for the love of god stop picking fights with him!"

"You dried my bra, that's what you did!" Ginny yells, ignoring everything I just said. "This is my nice bra, George. It's the only one I brought that isn't a sports bra, and you've dried it. In the dryer. On high heat! How could you!?"

I look at her, completely flabbergasted. "I still have no idea what the problem is. Is it not supposed to be blue?"

She growls in frustration before roughly punching my upper arm. "It's supposed to be air dried, you pleb! The liner material's shrunk and now it'll fit all wonky and give me weird lines under my shirt." She rolls her shoulders as if she already feels discomfited.

I hold out my hand in apology. "I didn't know that. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Oh, good. He's sorry," she says, almost manically. "Did you hear that, Harry? He's sorry."

The bathroom door flings open, and an irate Harry emerges and begins whisper yelling at my little sister. "If you wake up Teddy with your moaning about the fact George did your laundry, so help me I will make you sleep on the floor for the rest of this lockdown."

"I have two bras with me. Two! And now your boyfriend's gone and ruined one. I only have four shirts with me. Do you want to shred one of them up next? Hmmm? You going to misplace my socks? Overstretch the elastic in my knickers? Or how about my jeans. Silly me, I only brought the one pair. You feel like 'spilling' bleach on them while I sleep?" Ginny rants.

Harry sends me an exasperated look, flops into bed, settling the covers over himself dramatically, and turns off his bedside lamp with his back turned to us.

"You know I didn't ruin your bra maliciously," I say evenly, trying to calm Ginny down before I have an even bigger problem with Harry. "I can't recall ever having to wash a bra before and I promise I will never forget that air dry detail again. I'm very sorry for doing your laundry. I know you weren't planning on being here this long, so you don't have much with you. I know you're anxious about not having a good space to keep in shape and practice. I know this must be really frustrating for you, but I can't do anything to fix this right now. Please just go get some sleep. I'll ask Mrs. Sprout if I can borrow her car and then we'll try to find a store that's open and get you a few more clothes in the morning."

Ginny's scowl has only darkened as I speak, slowly shaking her head back and forth. "This isn't over," she says darkly as she walks out in a huff.

"Is she always this much of a nightmare?" Harry asks, rolling over to watch me.

"Oh, don't you start, too. I'm not in the mood."

"I'm just saying she could be a little nicer to the both of us."

"She hasn't been that bad."

"She wasn't bad when she was here on holiday. She's been a raging bitch since she found out she can't leave."

"Could you please, please, cut her some slack," I implore. I hate playing the moderator in their ridiculous squabbles. They had gotten on so well when they first met I was actually a little jealous. Now I wish I was still jealous. It would be a lot more peaceful to be jealous. "She's basically out of a job while the league tries to figure out how they'll run the season while following the government guidelines. It's not like her salary is anything too impressive, especially for living in London. It may be professional football, but it's still women's football. She's making shit pay until she proves herself and gets a starting spot or a sponsorship deal."

"You're out of work and you're not accosting people for doing your laundry wrong," Harry says hotly.

I take a deep, calming breath. "Thank you for the reminder. I, unlike Ginny, have a bit of savings to fall back on. Not to mention, extremely affordable housing."

"Why did she have to go and piss off Mrs. Sprout?" Harry switches back to the original point of contention between he and Ginny. "I know she can be a bit," he makes a face, "but she is a sweet old lady and her heart is in the right place. And she's my neighbour and Teddy's primary minder. Ginny's one more fight away from making my life hell for _years_."

"Harry..."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. Have a good night."

I change silently and put the lights out. This lockdown can't be over soon enough.

\--**--**--**--

A few days later Ginny glares at me as I descend the stairs. Teddy is on her lap and I have an answer for what on earth that pounding and whirring noise is. A positively ancient sewing machine is on our dining room table and Ginny is sewing a face mask out of a material I can only assume was manufactured in 1976. It is a truly ghastly combination of colours and patterns, and from this distance, I can't honestly tell whether or not it's corduroy.

"What the -" my eyes dart to Teddy who's watching me closely as I search for an acceptable word, "-blazes are you doing, Ginny?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Making enough masks to outfit a small, badly dressed army?" I reply. "Are you planning to invade Estonia? _Risk!_ is just a board game, Gin. Leave the Baltics alone."

She flips me off, thankfully where Teddy can't see her. "Mrs. Sprout somehow managed to commit to making one hundred and fifty masks for the community centre and they need at least half of them by the end of the week."

"And that explains how you went from shouting matches over the fence to you commandeering her sewing machine to finish her project, how?"

"She promised to lay off about her seedlings and the fence and all the other stuff if I helped her. She said, and I quote, 'I never did have any patience for the handicrafts.'" Ginny shrugged and pushed her foot down on the pedal. "Actually, since I know you're not doing anything, how about you pick up those scissors and start cutting out this." She hands me a piece of notebook paper with marks and dimensions on it that is serving as a makeshift pattern, a pair of orange-handled craft scissors, and a red pumpkin pin cushion. "You'll have to iron the pleats," she says, gesturing to the ironing board set up in front of the kitchen island. It's surrounded by a semi-circle of chairs.

"You know those won't keep a toddler out, right?" I ask, gesturing to the chairs that separate Teddy from unburned flesh.

"Yeah, but I figure he'll make enough noise moving chairs around that I'll be able to stop him."

I just shake my head and set up the bluetooth speakers to continue Ginny's education of Scottish musicians before I start cutting. She's been ragging on Scotland since January, so this is my quiet rebellion. We work solidly for two hours before Harry gets home from his call out. Teddy is dancing erratically around the table as Ginny and I trade "DA-DA-LA-DA's" at the height of The Proclaimer's hit _I'm Gonna Be_ at the top of our voices when I notice Harry watching us from the hallway. He's slumped against the wall and his eyes look older than they should.

I run to him without hesitation and twirl him into a spirited dance as I sing the last chorus to him. It has the desired effect, since he starts laughing and kisses me after I dip him to the final chords of the song. I then fill him in on the mask-making truce that Ginny struck up with Mrs. Sprout as I make him lunch.

"So, how was work?" I finally ask.

Harry shrugs.

"What was it? Hand sanitizer deal gone bad?" I joke, but only Ginny laughs.

"I wish," Harry says with a heavy sigh. "Domestic violence. They, uh, aren't sure she'll make it. One of her kids called it in." Harry shakes his head and pushes his food around his plate. "I hate these sorts of calls. I just don't understand. It's just not right. All of it."

"I'm sorry, love," I whisper, squeezing his shoulder. Our lockdown quarrels suddenly seem just as petty as they are and I feel ashamed. Yes, I'm out of work, but I have money to spare and I'm surrounded by loved ones. We played virtual trivia with Bill, Fleur, Percy, and Audrey last night while the girls and Teddy watched a Disney film 'together.' I've been texting Sigridur, Tommy, and Ernie Prang, to make sure everyone's well and not too lonely. My life now is still five times better than my life one year ago, and ten times better than my life two years ago. It's so easy to lose perspective when facing so much restriction and uncertainty.

I attempt to cheer Harry up by filling him in on antics he missed this morning. When that doesn't work I manage to drag him upstairs to the bedroom. I finally disclose to him my secret stash of organic, vegan-friendly, essential oil bath bombs. He gives me his most unimpressed stare as I start prattling on, reviewing the benefits of lavender versus orange, mint, lemon, and the nebulous 'ocean' scented bombs.

"If I pick this peppermint one, will you stop talking about essential oils?" Harry asks, cutting off my assessments.

"Just remember, I don't offer up my bath bombs to just anyone, love," I say, wrapping the box up in a bag before placing it back in the depths of my wardrobe. I'll have to find a new hiding spot now that Harry knows....

_You are a ridiculous idiot. I can't believe we have identical DNA._

Hush, Fred. You love me.

"You are ridiculous, you know that?" Harry says as he walks to the bathroom.

"Hush, Harry. You love me."

\--**--**--**--

My birthday passes without much fanfare, which is just how I like it now-a-days. Ginny and Harry manage to get along well enough to make a birthday cake. They've actually made an effort to be friendly again now that emotions have settled a bit.

We've been taking the stay-at-home orders seriously, so I don't have any gifts to unwrap, which is fine by me. Harry and Ginny directed the family to send me money through Venmo, and I have specific instructions to spend it on something that will make me smile once this lockdown is over.

The best gifts are often those that can't be wrapped or quantified in any way. Percy probably didn't mean to give me this gift either when our call began, but once the stiff pleasantries had been exchanged and we traded stories of how our families are handling the pandemic, we ventured into new territory as far as our private video chats go.

"George," Percy starts, then pauses, eyes searching and Adam's apple bobbing.

"Yeah, Perce?" I prompt.

"I, er, I think, well, actually I know, there's something I need to say to you," Percy says in his most formal tone.

"Fire way."

Percy takes a deep breath and releases it in a rush. "I don't hate you."

I nod my head once at the proclamation. "Okay. Er, I don't hate you either."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I," I counter. "I know you don't hate me, Percy. We've butted heads all our lives, sure, but I love you just as much as I love Ginny."

"Really?" Percy asks, sceptically.

"Yep. Really."

"Oh. Well, I love you, too."

"You don't have to say it just cause I said it," I tease, "I'm not trying to get in your pants."

"Why do you insist on ruining sweet moments. Are you allergic to sentimentality?" Percy asks hotly, even though his smile gives his pretence away.

"Bah," I wave, "keep your sentiments."

We trade banter and the tension dissipates until I finally have to ask.

"What's brought all this on, Percy? Is there something going on? You alright?"

He nods thoughtfully before responding. "Have I mentioned that Audrey's sister is a... well, she's... a lesbian?" Percy pauses like he expects me to gasp and grab my pearls before fainting. When I don't, he forges ahead. "She got married in 2018. It was actually a really fun wedding. Relaxed, but like, perfect in its own way. It was a really special day, but there was quite a bit of drama leading up to it." He takes another deep breath, keeping his eyes downcast. "You know, I'm sure, that my views about marriage have leaned on the conservative side of things. But in recent years, mostly because of Audrey, I've come to know a few same-sex couples quite well. One of them being Audrey's sister, Moira, and her wife Susan. I guess my views have evolved quite a bit in the last few years. Same-sex couples made me really uncomfortable, but I see now that it's my problem to work through, not theirs. It really is none of my business, and I now believe it isn't something the government should really be allowed to define and regulate beyond, you know, age and consent."

"Wow, Perce," I say, honestly flabbergasted, "how very worldly of you."

He rolls his eyes, but continues. "Before Moira's wedding, her grandparents on her mother's side were not very receptive to the announcement. We were all surprised because they had met Susan a number of times and were welcoming and everything. But once they got engaged, well, it got a bit nasty. They told Moira she needed to stop fooling around with that 'nonsense.' That she needed to let go of her 'silly experiments,' that it wasn't acceptable now that she was finished with university, and they basically laid down an ultimatum. They haven't spoken to Moira since a few months before the wedding. Obviously they weren't even at the wedding. They've missed everything since then. Audrey hardly speaks with them anymore - she debated not sending a birth announcement for Lucy - and even their mum is not as close as she was before. I don't want that to be me," Percy confesses, suddenly. "I don't want to be the relative that gets shut out because of selfish views. It still makes me uncomfortable, the whole concept of same sex relationships, and frankly most parts of that LGBT alphabet do, but that's my problem. I don't want it ruining relationships that I value. I can't promise that I won't say something insensitive now and then, but I promise I don't intend it to be malicious if I do slip up. I want to be part of your life, George. I want to be at your wedding someday. I want to know your kids, and I want mine to know their Uncle George and his partner - whoever that is. I'm sorry that I ever made you feel like my love and respect was conditional on who you fancied. I promise it won't be like that in future."

I am stunned. I never expected I'd get this moment. I never imagined this could be resolved so clearly between us. I swallow thickly before answering, "I never expected to hear you say that. It really means a lot to me. I thought we'd just move on, carefully ignoring that Harry isn't just my friend or my flatmate."

"I wouldn't do that to either of you. Harry's good for you. I can tell. You're good together."

"We are, aren't we?" I say, smitten.

"Yeah, you are," Percy confirms. "Try not to muck it up."

\--**--**--**--

Teddy shrieks in delight as Harry lifts the cover of the large hutch holding our very own bunny. I have no idea how Harry made this happen in the middle of the lockdown, but I am beginning to understand just how many odd friends Hagrid has. We have tried our best to support local businesses during the lockdown so that our favourite establishments don't close. But Hagrid really is the best. If you have a problem, chances are he knows someone with a solution. He's even given Ginny a job delivering food a few days a week. We've been in this lockdown long enough that people are just flat out tired of cooking.

I film Teddy's reaction as the bunny is revealed. "EEEEEEEE-HEEEE-HEEE-HEE-HEE-HEEEEEE!!!! IT'S A BUNNY! IT'S A BUNNY!" Teddy squeals over and over, clapping his hands, completely oblivious that the bunny is cowering away from him because of the noise. He's a beautiful white rabbit with brown and black spots around his nose, ears, hips, and in a stripe along his spine. He's a fully grown rabbit, weighing in at just 2.5 kilograms.

Harry's the one who made this moment happen, getting the rabbit hutch from a coworker whose family rabbit had passed away last year, then thinking to ask Hagrid to help with actually acquiring the furry little beast. This was the Harry show, for sure, but it was my idea and I'm the one responsible for the upkeep. I hope Teddy doesn't lose interest in the bunny after a few weeks. That would be such a letdown after all this build up. It is a possibility, though, which is why I wanted to name bunny, and not let Teddy do the honour. Harry wouldn't have it though.

_"This is one of those things we just have to let the kid do and then mock him mercilessly for his choice for years to come," Harry had reasoned the night before Teddy's birthday, which bunny spent locked in our bathroom._

_"You know he's just going to name him bunny, don't you?" I point out the obvious. It pains me physically that I might have to deliver a bunny named Bunny to the vet._

_"Twenty quid says my kid gets more creative than that," Harry offers, extending his hand._

_"You're on."_

"Happy Birthday, Tedlarny!" I exclaim, holding the camera to his face. "As the mayor of Bunnyville, it seems only fitting that you have a bunny of your own here at the house. What do you think?" I ask, crouching down next to the boy to better capture the moment on video.

"It's a bunny!" Teddy repeats.

"Yeah, I know it's a bunny," I chuckle. "What do you think?"

"I love da bunny," Teddy whispers in a suddenly serious voice. It would have been creepy if he didn't have his finger jammed halfway up his nose.

"Don't pick your nose, Ted," Harry scolds lightly. "Do you want to hold the bunny?"

Teddy nods his head exaggeratedly. Once the small rabbit is coaxed out from the straw behind the ramp that leads to the second story of the hutch, he is settled in Teddy's arms. Harry asks the question we've been anxiously awaiting the answer for nearly fifteen hours. "Bunny needs a name, Teddy. Can you think of any good names?"

"Diggle," Teddy says without hesitation.

"Diggle?" I ask, annunciating slowly to make sure that's what he said before I have to hand over that twenty quid to my smirking boyfriend.

Teddy nods his head. "Diggle. He da bunny."

I pet the rabbit gently on his head, while a gloating Harry motions for me to pay up over the kid's shoulder. "Welcome to the family, Diggle."

\--**--**--**--

Harry looks at his ringing phone in obvious confusion a few nights later. Ginny is running conditioning drills in the garden by the early evening light (using boxes of cereal, kid toys, rocks, and stray lawn ornaments as makeshift cones), and I am playing on the floor with Teddy. I see Harry take a deep breath and answer the call.

"Hello?" Harry says, almost like he's not expecting an answer. "Oh, yeah, er...hi Colin. How are you?"

Well that's got my attention. I sit up a little straighter and make crude hand gestures at Harry and mouth 'your ex-boyfriend Colin? The fuck does he want?' Harry nods back at me and waves me off.

"Oh, that's good. Glad to hear it. Yeah, and tell your parents I say hello. How was their big anniversary trip?" Harry asks, moving his laptop off to a sofa cushion and crossing his legs.

_Good, he's fidgeting. That means he's uncomfortable._

If he's uncomfortable, why doesn't he hang up, Fred?

_Come on, Georgie. Harry wouldn't be that rude._

"I'm glad they had a good time. Thirty years is nothing to sneeze at."

_Yeah, like thirty years in prison for murder. Calm down, George. It's just a phone call._

I rearrange my features into a less hardened expression. I tackle Teddy into a tickle hug with an exaggerated roar, making him shriek with laughter even as I make a ton of noise, to the point that there is no way Colin could miss it.

"Oh, yeah. That's just George and Teddy playing. Never a _quiet_ moment around here," Harry replies, giving me a pointed look.

_You're pathetic._

It worked didn't it? I'm officially out there. I exist, and now that dweeb, Colin, is on the defensive.

"George is my boyfriend."

Damn right!

_Backup a minute. Did you seriously just call someone a 'dweeb?' Did we suddenly time travel thirty years and I missed it?_

"No, no, not breaking any COVID laws. He lives here. Part of the household."

Haha, sucker! That's right, I win!

"Yes, I'm serious. Why would that be surprising?"

Yeah, Colin, why is that surprising?

"We met at the end of July last year."

Moved in a mere three months later because we're perfect together!

_Okay, calm down George. You know he can't hear you._

"Well, he's funny, smart, and kind. He's an engineer, but he took some time off to travel the world. He worked as a commercial fisherman for a while. He's a ginger and he's got a great beard, but I suspect he's going to ditch it come summer."

_Hey now! I like the beard. Don't jinx this!_

You know he can't hear you, right, Fred?

_Shut it, smart ass._

"Yeah, he is. He's really great with Teddy, too. The kid absolutely loves him. George has a really large family, and they are all great. Kind, welcoming, funny. We've been chatting quite a bit recently. His sister is even staying with us at the moment and she was a huge help toilet training Teddy. Yeah, it's pretty exciting. Twenty-seven days without an accident. It's pretty great."

Oh, sure. She just swoops in at the last second and gets all the credit.

"Haha, yeah. Such are the joys of parenthood. But enough about me. How is everyone else? I haven't really kept up with anyone since I moved. Who else have you called?"

I switch my attention back to Teddy as Colin speaks at length, drawing chuckles and the occasional question from Harry. I'm trying to control my dirty looks as the call drags on, and on, and on....

"And how are things with that guy? Terry, wasn't it?"..."Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." ... "Well, hopefully the next guy is more supportive."... "Okay, well, thanks for calling and checking in. I think what you're doing is really thoughtful." ... "I'm doing really well." ... "Yep, thanks for calling." ... "Yep, I will."... "Yep, mmhmm, okay, bye now."

"Argh, finally!" I call out as Harry ends the call. "I thought he'd keep talking 'til midnight."

"Oh, come on. It was like ten minutes. He was lonely," Harry says.

"So he calls his ex-boyfriend?"

"His ex-ex-boyfriend."

"So the guy he left you for didn't work out?" I ask. "Ah, fiddlesticks."

Harry tries to hold a mild expression as he responds, but I can tell he feels a little vindicated. "No. Colin said he didn't really understand 'the plight of the artist.' Terry was an economist, and had a few too many suggestions about the business side of things. I guess he thought Colin should try to work as a wedding photographer to make 'real' money and let his art be a side gig until he got a better foothold. I'm assuming that led to some petty arguments and an eventual break up."

I raise my eyebrow, unimpressed, but don't comment.

"He said he was just calling to check up on people to see how everyone is fairing with the stay-at-home orders. I guess he read an article about a mental health crisis brewing during these times, with people being isolated, and it encouraged readers to reach out to their friends and family," Harry says with another shrug. "He was being sweet."

"Well, in that case, let me go grab my little black book. I've got a lot of calls to make. It'll probably take all night."

Harry throws a pillow at my head, then joins me and Teddy on the floor. "Okay, fine. He was testing the waters. I chose to talk to him like a friend. I don't think I gave him any reason for hope, but I just didn't see a reason to be nasty, either."

"Do you think he actually talked to any of your other friends?"

"Dunno. It was more a general overview of where everyone has ended up. I can't remember the last time I checked social media, so I have no clue what happened to our old friends. It's nice to get an update, either way."

"I can't believe you gave Ginny all the credit for the toilet training," I say, feigning hurt.

_Feigning? Yeah right. Who came up with all those potty songs? You and me, pal! Ginny had nothing to do with it!_

Harry throws his hands up in exasperation, " _he_ called _me_!"

\--**--**--**--

"Thanks, George," Ginny says, accepting a glass of Hagrid's specialty tea I just got back from procuring. "How can tea be this sinfully good?"

"Dunno," I say with a shrug. "It's the one secret the man can keep."

"Figures," Ginny mutters before taking a swig. Her eyes dart between tracking Diggle as he hops his way around the garden and me. I can sense what's coming, but I don't have the heart to try to stop it. "Listen, George. I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but I just need to know that you're alright." Ginny grimaces apologetically.

I nod my head, "I'm doing alright, Gin."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. You're right, I don't really want to talk about it, but yeah... I'm alright," I reassure her. "Are you alright?"

Ginny scoffs, "no. I can't believe he's been gone nearly four years already."

"It feels like it's been forever."

"Do you talk about him with anyone?" Ginny asks, suddenly. "With Harry, maybe? I just don't like the idea of any of us forgetting about him."

"I talk about him," I say, a bit more defensively than I mean to, but my tone is more even as I explain. "I tell stories about him to Harry. I'm not in a place where I can mention him lightly, but I'm getting better. I'm trying. And I could never actually forget about him, Gin. I wouldn't let that happen."

"Good," Ginny says, firmly. "He was the best. He deserves to have his story told. The good and the bad."

I nod my agreement and we sit in silence, sipping our tea and watching Diggle hop slowly through the grass, nose twitching. The early May breeze sending a shiver through us every few minutes.

"Speaking of things we don't want to talk about, what's the deal with this swearing off men, thing?"

Ginny glares at me from the lounger in the back garden. It's taken me eight weeks to broach this subject, but with Ginny making serious arrangements to get back to London, I know I won't feel right not asking while she's here. She turns back to Diggle, who's ears are twitching to catch some sound beyond our ability to hear.

"What did they tell you?" Ginny asks with a deadened tone.

I puff out a breath before answering honestly. "Bill wouldn't speculate. Charlie had a few theories, mostly the mild variety. Percy thinks you're just being responsible and focusing on your career. Ron and Hermione have a few theories of the doomsday variety. Mum and Dad only said they were worried about you, but that you seem to be thriving."

"What are these theories Charlie and Ron have?" she asks hotly.

"Do you really want to know?" I ask, and she nods her head, tossing a sprig of fennel out for Diggle to munch on. "Well, it ranges from an everyday sort of breakup to a bad break up because he cheated on you or something, to a pregnancy scare, to an actual abortion situation, to an abusive relationship. And there's a bunch of stuff in between."

"They've got all the bases covered, haven't they?" Ginny comments, dryly.

"Oh! And I forgot about the lesbian awakening theory!" I add, earning another glare from my sister. "For the record, we're all hoping Percy's right."

"Who'd have thought he'd be the optimistic sod out of all us Weasley kids?"

"He has his moments," I agree. "We don't have to talk about this right now if you don't want to. Everyone is just a little worried about you. And I'm really, really sorry I wasn't there for you when whatever it was that happened, happened. But I promise I won't do that to you again."

Ginny tilts her head back and sighs. "God, I wish I was a lesbian. I think I would be really good at it, but it just isn't right for me." She takes a few more sips of her drink before saying in a low voice, "I don't really want everyone knowing what happened. It's just stupid."

"I doubt any of your stupid stories could dwarf mine," I say. "Not to brag, or anything, I'm just saying, I promise I won't judge."

"I know you won't," Ginny says, finally looking at me again. "Okay, I'll tell you, but I really don't want you blabbing to everyone. It's embarrassing. It's private." I cross my heart and wave her to continue. "Okay, so I was dating this guy my last year at uni. He was really sweet and smart and I really liked him. We had been dating for about eight months and things were fairly serious, you know? I had met his parents, and he was talking about applying for jobs where ever I ended up so we could stay together after school. So obviously things were... you know, we were..." She makes a vague hand gesture and I nod, and assume she's telling me that they were shagging. "Right, so, I got an IUD my first year at uni, just for my peace of mind. I know I don't want to have kids before I'm ready, right? The guy I was dating knew about it because he complained about being able to feel the wires and I had to go in to get them shortened." I silently offer her a high-five, which she accepts, but otherwise I keep my mouth shut. "But once he knew about that, he started hinting that he didn't want to use condoms anymore." Ginny flushes and looks at me through her lashes to gauge my reaction. "I told him I wasn't comfortable with that and he seemed to accept it and we moved on. But then he kept mentioning it, and mentioning it, and he presented me with his clean STI screening results, and he wouldn't let it go. But I just really didn't want to do that and I told him so. Very clearly," she annunciates.

"But then one night my roommate was out of town and we had a quiet night in and we, you know, started... engaging in amorous activities. He asked again and I said no, and we went on with things like we usually do. Then we changed positions and I couldn't really see him, but ... it felt different and I knew instantly that he had taken off the condom even though I was _really clear_ that I didn't want that. I told him to stop, but... he didn't. I didn't have very good leverage, where I was, so he got a few pumps in before I was able to push him off. He made it seem like I was freaking out over nothing because he 'would have pulled out before he finished,'" Ginny said through gritted teeth as an angry tear dropped out of the corner of her eye, which she swiped away quickly. "He said I was acting like he was a monster when he wasn't."

"Did he give you a reason?" I ask. "Did he try to justify breaking your trust?"

"He said he thought I'd change my mind if I knew what I was missing out on. He just 'wanted me to know how much better it could be.'" Ginny scoffed, shaking her head bitterly.

"What a bastard," I growl.

"I don't want it to be this big deal, but it is. There've been other things with other guys that upset me over the years, but I just kept going. Kept dating. Kept trying. This was the final straw. I just let myself get consumed in these relationships that don't add anything good to my life. Men just prove themselves to be giant assholes over and over and over. Even the nice ones. And I hate that I feel like maybe I was being unreasonable, like this was somehow my fault -"

"-it's not your fault," I interject.

"I know that. I hate that one of my best, healthiest relationships - at least up to that point - is tainted by this one event. It was a serious violation, I know that, but I'm not proud of how much I've let that night affect me."

"Ginny," I say, pausing to process her words before I speak. "I'm really proud of you for breaking up with him. He shouldn't have done that. He should have listened to you. There's no excusing him. I've had some issues in my sex life, too, of guys not respecting boundaries. In some cases I could chalk it up to language barriers, or that some people are just selfish assholes, but there are also some people that get off on this control complex and it can be really scary," I admit. "Do what you have to do to protect yourself. I totally support you. But I don't want you giving up hope that there are good guys out there. I'd hate to think that one asshole, or maybe a series of assholes, could keep you from finding love. I mean, take your time, there's no rush. Wait until you're ready, obviously, but maybe try to keep an open mind in the mean time? You deserve to be properly happy."

"I know. I'm trying. I just needed to take a step back from it. Re-evaluate my choices. Find my centre," Ginny says, almost like a mantra.

"I can't judge you for that. At least you kept in touch with the family and pursued your dreams while you did your soul-searching. You've still got a leg up on me."

"Well, if I have any luck, my soul-searching will end with me meeting someone as great as Harry," Ginny says, a little wistfully. It warms my heart to hear her approve of Harry so sincerely considering the ups and downs they've had during her visit.

I raise my glass to toast, and Ginny raises her glass in kind. "To single fathers!"

"No!" Ginny yelps, sloshing her drink in her haste to avoid clinking my glass. I lean over her, trying to clink her glass anyway, but she pushes me off and now we're chasing each other around the garden, trying to avoid stepping through Diggle's play pen as we go. I finally back Ginny into the corner with the prickly rose bush. She makes one last attempt to avoid clinking, then shouts, "to nice guys like Harry who don't have kids, adopted or otherwise, because I'm too young for that shit and I'm quite content with being Aunt Ginny for the next decade."

I sigh dramatically, "okay, fine. I accept your toast correction," and our glasses finally meet.

"I'm going to miss you, Ginny."

Ginny closes the gap between us and hugs me fiercely. She mumbles into my chest, "I'll miss you, too. But I'm just a call or text away. Don't you forget it."

"Never again. I promise."


	11. From Misery to Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said Chapter 7 was the longest chapter in this story? I assure you I wasn't lying at the time, I've just made a lot of edits to these last two chapters since then. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Posted December 13th - 8,815 words

I squeeze Harry's hand as he steps back from the headstones of his parents looking for a little comfort. We scraped off the stray moss and bird droppings before placing the bright bouquets that Teddy helped pick out at a shop in the quaint little village Harry would have grown up in had his parents not died when he was fifteen months old. Sirius B. Potter is buried next to James C. and Lily D. Potter in a small graveyard, next to a small church, in a small corner of England where they lived small lives with their small family for a small time on this earth. Harry is the culmination of all three of their small lives, and while Harry and Teddy may be just as small in the grand scheme of things, they are massive to me. Just like Fred was. Is.

"I didn't know what to think, growing up," Harry admits softly, drawing me out of my musing. "My dad was my whole world. If I didn't know my parents had died - if we hadn't come to visit them here every holiday - I don't think I'd have ever wanted for them, honestly. It seems like a huge insult to their memory to say that, but missing dad is completely different to missing my parents."

"It makes sense, though," I say quietly after the words hang between us for several breaths. "You knew Sirius. You felt his love. You have memories of him. Specific things that you miss or that remind you of him. With your parents, I imagine it's more nebulous. Like a wanting. An absence. A mystery."

Harry nods and squeezes my hand, while leaning further into my side. Being August, it's almost too hot to be in this close of contact, but needing comfort knows no season.

We've finally taken a leaf out of Ginny's book and rented a car to make our trek to England. I'm still not proud of the nervous fluttering I felt as we crossed the border into England. I've built up in my mind what my return home would be like, and the mix of emotions is living up to expectations. I am anxious, ashamed, excited, terrified, filled with hope, and filled with dread. Good thing trying to entertain a toddler who isn't accustomed to long car rides is a task of its own. There is plenty of distraction interspersed with moments of reflection.

It was Harry's idea to head south. He wanted to visit his family's graves since it's been so long. Once Ginny found out about our impending trip, she arranged for us to watch a team scrimmage since there weren't any more games until September. It was a nightmare to set up with the pandemic protocols, so we can't back out now even if we want to. Next thing you know, we're booked to stay a night with Ron and Hermione in Cambridge. And once those details were settled, we made plans with mum and dad to stay at the Burrow for a few nights. I should have known that once I told mum it would spiral into a family reunion. Bill's family is making the trek from Durham and even Charlie is planning to be home.

Mum's been going just as stir crazy as Mrs. Sprout with the pandemic - simultaneously conscious of the fact she falls into the higher-risk group and needs to be cautious, while also being indignant that she has to jump through hoops to get a haircut or wear a mask through an entire quilting session with the church ladies in the fellowship hall. She finally found a mask design that doesn't fog up her reading glasses when she's working, so crisis averted. We now have more Molly Weasley-made masks than we know what to do with. Every time she sees a new mask pattern claiming to be 'the most comfortable, breathable design' she has to try it. And by try it, I mean make thirty so we each have two that we can cycle through the washing.

It's nice to be taken care of, though, and they are certainly a step up from everything Mrs. Sprout tossed over the fence.

As I stand here in the graveyard with Harry and Teddy, I wonder not for the first time, whether I want to visit Fred's grave. Harry's been needling me about it for weeks. He thinks I should carve out a few hours to visit Fred. But I carry Fred with me everywhere. Why do I need to shed tears over a hunk of marble? It's not like I'll ever forget that he isn't alive.

_Sensitive as ever, Georgie._

Harry clearly gets something out of this visit, but I've known from the beginning that Harry is better at dealing with his grief than I will ever be. I'm not Harry. I never will be.

But is avoiding Fred's grave a healthy thing to do? Is it a sign that I'm never going to move forward? Sigh.

_Did you just think a sigh instead of actually sighing like a normal person?_

Shut up Fred, 2020 has just been _weird_.

Speaking of sighing, Harry lets out a long sigh and I see the tension release just a bit more from his shoulders. He smiles weakly at me, signalling that he's ready to leave. Visiting loved ones' graves appears to be a bittersweet sort of thing, which makes sense. It isn't exactly convincing me to partake, either.

We corral Teddy back into the car only after we drench him in hand sanitizer, let him run and slide around the local play park for a few minutes before drenching him in hand sanitizer once again and then setting off. It's another hour before we pull up to Ron and Hermione's block of flats in Cambridge and I can escape Teddy's worried ramblings about what Diggle is doing with Hagrid right about now. Harry smiles fondly at me, grabbing the bags out of the boot before reminding me that Diggle was _my_ idea.

"Ah! Hahahaha! You're here! You made it!" Hermione cries, flinging open the door before we've even made it all the way up to the landing. She's literally bouncing with suppressed excitement. "I kept adjusting your expected arrival times based on the updates you texted Ron and then he forwarded to me. I was expecting you here twenty-five minutes ago. I hope you didn't hit traffic. I told Ron to tell you to take the cut-off to get here. Sat nav doesn't always suggest it, but it's never failed me."

"Hey, Hermione," I say, tiredly. "We followed Ron's directions to a 'T.' Teddy was just a little cooped up from the drive so we let him run around the park before we left Godric's Hollow. Sorry we're a bit behind, but you'll appreciate it when he sleeps through the night."

Hermione smiles and waves me off. "Oh that makes sense. I should have realised. But nevermind, you're here now, so come in, come in!" She motions us to follow her in, and it's only once the door to the flat is closed and our cases sit by our shoes next to the door that Hermione makes the move to hug us. She halts abruptly after she starts the hug motions and a puzzled expression crosses her face. "Christ, I don't remember the last time I tried to hug someone besides Ron. It feels so strange now, like I'm breaking a rule," Hermione admits nervously. "Look what's become of us?"

I chuckle with her. "It's alright if you want to keep your distance, even if it's just a little thing like not hugging. I get it. But we do really appreciate the invite."

"Oh, nonsense. I'm just being silly," Hermione declares as she pulls me into a warm hug, then Harry - bypassing an introductory handshake. She drops to her knees to greet Teddy next, and he's hiding behind Harry's legs much like he did back in January when he met dad, Bill, and Ron. "Hi, Teddy! I'm your Auntie Hermione. Remember me? We've talked on the computer a lot these last eight months. I've been reading books to you and the girls."

Teddy giggles shyly while gripping Harry's trouser legs before he nods. "Tumus, Tumus!" he says, and Hermione obliges by making goat noises in her Mr. Tumnus voice. It's definitely a hit with the under five-year-olds of the family. Teddy tentatively stumbles forward and hugs Hermione with just a little push from Harry.

We get settled, make up our beverages of choice and find seats out on Ron and Hermione's modest balcony. "Ron'll be here soon. I hope it's alright, but I couldn't stomach the thought of cooking when it's this warm out. We just can't get a good air flow in this flat," Hermione admits with a wistful sigh. "I ordered takeaway from this Persian restaurant we love that's a few streets away from the station."

"I'm sure that'll be delicious. As long as it isn't too spicy, Teddy will like it, too," Harry says before Hermione can second guess herself and list the other options she considered and how she narrowed it down to that specific restaurant.

"Are you ready for term to start up again, Hermione?" I ask to distract her, and true to form, she takes off rambling about her last year at the law programme at Cambridge. Hermione has a way of speaking enthusiastically about objectively boring topics that makes them seem interesting. I'm sure if she didn't have this ability Ron wouldn't be in the picture anymore. I love my little brother dearly, but he can be a bit thick sometimes.

And Ron does arrive soon after, laden with bags of takeaway. Even Ron hesitates slightly before hugging us, and I curse this virus five times over for changing our lives so drastically in such a short amount of time. "Sorry, sorry. It's just really hit home with Auntie Muriel passing...." Ron trails off in his explanation.

"No I get it. We feel the same. We have Hagrid stopping in at ours to watch Diggle every day and right before I let him into the house to show him around, I almost decided to pack up Diggle and traumatise him with a long road trip instead," Harry says with a chuckle. "It's ridiculous because we eat food Hagrid prepares multiple times a week, so it's not like we can trust him much more than that. I am really sorry about your aunt, though."

Ron shrugs. "Yeah, it was a bit of a shock. Sure, she was, like, one hundred and fifty years old --"

"Ninety-one," Hermione cuts across hotly.

"-- but she could be so nasty you'd have thought she was thirteen sometimes. I'm surprised the virus wasn't scared of her, honestly."

"Legend," I say, raising my glass in honour of the one person who consistently made mum break into tears at family functions. Love to hate her, hate to love her.

"But I don't know," Ron says, "I guess I always assumed she'd be at our wedding complaining about 'letting _another_ progressive-minded career girl into the family without a thought for carrying on the family line.' As if the family line is in any danger with six of us potentially reproducing."

"Five of you, actually," I correct him, to a puzzled expression. I gesture to Harry and explain. "Not exactly going to be popping out any biological children to Auntie Muriel's satisfaction."

"Oh, right," Ron says, then scoffs, "who gives a toss about biological anyway? I stand by what I said. There's six of us carrying on the family line."

"Bah," I huff a little bashfully. "Look at you being sweet, ickle Ronniekins."

"I have my moments."

\--**--**--**--

The next morning we set off for London knowing that we'll see Ron and Hermione at the weekend. London definitely isn't as I remember it pre-pandemic, but neither is Edinburgh. We don't stay with Ginny because she has flatmates and there's no place for us. It's the same story with Percy, except it's two kids instead of flatmates. We pull into a parking space outside the training facility, and before the car is off, Ginny pushes through the glass doors, mask on, and makes her way towards us.

"Hey strangers!" She greets us with a wave as we stand up and stretch. "Long time no see."

Harry chuckles as Teddy breaks into a run to meet her as soon as he's free from his car seat. "Ginny, Ginny, Ginny!" Teddy always says her name three times. A magic number. Like Beetlejuice.

Ginny sweeps Teddy up into a hug and kisses his chubby cheeks excessively. His wispy, sandy brown hair sticks up on end as she dips him nearly upside down, making him squeal. "Again!" Teddy cries, letting his arms dangle freely in the dip as he shrieks and giggles with the thrill.

"Me next!" I cry, running towards the pair and jumping like I expect Ginny to catch me, but landing just short. Ginny tries to push me away, but I wrap her and Teddy into a quick squeeze and kiss my little sister on the forehead through my mask.

"Alright, alright, enough of that," Ginny says, pushing me away more firmly, before looking around for witnesses. "I'm not really supposed to have close contact with people. Not that it'll stop them from tickling my brain three times a week or anything."

"That's the spirit," Harry comments. He greets Ginny by blowing a cheeky air kiss, which she catches and slaps on Teddy's face, earning another giggle from the boy. "How's life, Ginny?"

She shrugs, "oh, you know. Getting by. Good to be with the team again. I think I'll get a few more starts the first half of the season. Three of our starters have muscle strains that management doesn't want to risk getting worse."

"Good for you," Harry says brightly. "Just don't hire trailer park assassins to bash any knees."

"I would never spend my hard-earned money that way," Ginny gasps, affronted. "Do you realise how many sketchy cousins I have who owe me a favour? Well, anyway, I have passes for you. It's important that you don't wander from your seats. You're allowed to your seats, the nearest toilets, and the exit and that's basically it."

"Short leash. Got it," I say.

Ginny grimaces. "I'm sorry I can't do more. I tried to at least get you closer to the pitch, but yeah, it's not happening. I really wish you could see us play for real."

"We'll be watching on the telly," I reassure her. "We've got the calendar marked and everything. Bill and Fleur were thinking of coming up for a watch party at ours for the first game."

She sighs heavily. "It's not the same though."

"We'll be here cheering in the stadium next season," Harry states. "Try and fuckin' stop us."

Ginny sets Teddy to his feet and hands around our passes. Teddy takes both mine and Harry's hands as we set off to our seats. We're armed with juice and enough snacks for an entire nursery school class, which we break out as soon as Ginny heads out to join the team for warm ups.

It's a lovely sunny day with a calm breeze. The ladies run their drills for a while before donning their pennies for the promised scrimmage. Ginny flies up and down the sideline, delivering cross after cross in to the box. The coach calls out instructions and critiques, but we can't make out all the words at this distance. The team looks good and both Harry and I are optimistic that their record will improve over the last season. Time will tell. But we can also see cracks in their armour as frustration mounts when the ladies aren't able to finish their chances with goals.

I am so proud of my sister for getting to this level in her career so quickly, but I can understand why she's hoping for a transfer.

\--**--**--**--

"Where the fuck are we?" Ginny asks, leaning forward into the space above the centre console of our rental car.

"What do you mean?" Harry answers. "We're still in London."

"I know, but what are we doing _here_ ," Ginny clarifies, gesturing out the windscreen at the borderline mansions surrounding us that scream wealth. At Harry's blasé shrug, Ginny's eyes narrow. "Oh my god... you're posh, aren't you?" Ginny accuses.

Harry makes an incredulous noise in his throat and splutters, "what? No!"

"You so are. Bah!" Ginny growls, punching his upper arm roughly, "it all makes sense now."

"OW!" Harry yelps, rubbing his arm. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you don't know, that means you're posh," Ginny grumbles, sitting back in her seat and crossing her arms moodily.

"I'm posh-adjacent, at best," Harry corrects. "Dad had to work hard to afford the school I went to. I didn't have everything handed to me, so don't give me that attitude. And be nice to the Longbottoms," Harry warns. "They come from old money, but they aren't posh like _that_."

To reinforce Harry's comments, I shoot my sister a warning look, but she just pulls a face and it takes all my self-control to suppress a snort of laughter. 

"I'll do my best to remember not to lap my dinner off the plate like a dog, but I can't make any promises. We didn't learn all those fancy manners out in the country, just so's ye know," Ginny teases in a ridiculous, stereotypical working class accent.

Harry just sighs heavily and turns down a narrow street. We pass a few streets and the houses become slightly less posh than the ostentatious wealth we had just past. Harry slows in the middle of the block and leans down to look out of my window at a dusky purple Victorian-style house with cream trim and a richly-carved wooden door.

"Is this their house?" I ask, confused why Harry isn't trying to find a spot to park instead of gawking from the street.

Harry swallows thickly and shakes his head. "No. This is where I grew up."

I turn to take in the house again, and I hear Ginny and Teddy do the same in the back seat, but Harry slowly pulls away without a backward glance and turns at the next street. We end up back on the posh street, so I know we detoured specifically to look at his childhood home. It's another one of those moments where I don't know whether I should say something or not.

"It looks like a lovely place. Have the new owners changed it much?"

Harry nods stiffly. "They painted. The garden looks fuller." His tone is crisp and I know that this is one of those things I should drop, and I've improved enough since December that I don't push.

We pull up to another Victorian-style house, but this one is distinctly larger. A crew is working in the manicured garden, pruning bushes, trimming grass, and raking the gravel of the little footpath. There's even a person scrubbing at a small spot of algae in the water feature.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ginny groans in the backseat. "You should have told me to bring a dress."

Harry sighs, exasperated. "You don't need a dress, Ginny. What you're wearing is fine."

"Says you, Mr. Posh-Adjacent," Ginny scolds. "I know I'll sound and act working class, but at least I could have _tried_ to look a little posh."

"We are helping Neville _move._ For the last time, the Longbottoms aren't like that. Now, everyone out of the car," Harry demands, pushing his own door open.

Teddy doesn't want to hold my hand as we walk up to the house, and I'm worried for a moment that the Longbottoms are about to witness an epic tantrum, but Ginny sweeps him onto her shoulders in a whirl of giggles and shrieks, and I can't thank her enough.

A middle-aged woman with short, blonde hair, a kind, round face, and an average build opens the door to greet us. She squeals, raising her hands and scrunching her shoulders as she pulls Harry into a warm hug, swinging him from side to side. "Oh, flower, it's been so long!"

I am completely surprised by the slightly Geordie accent that comes out of Mrs. Longbottom. While she is dressed casually in a light, floral blouse and khaki capri pants, it's obvious that the clothes are well made and _not_ from M&S. I expected to hear a posh accent like the royals use, honestly. I exchange a slightly bewildered look with Ginny, who returns my look with a shrug.

"It's really wonderful to see you, too, Mrs. Longbottom," Harry says, pulling away and gesturing to me, Ginny, and Teddy. "I'd like you to meet George, his sister Ginny, and of course, Teddy. Everyone, this is Alice Longbottom."

Mrs. Longbottom smiles brightly and shakes our hands. "It's so lovely to meet you all. I am so glad Neville thought to invite you to stay, and we _so_ appreciate your help with the move. I wanted to hire movers but Frank thought we'd just tackle it ourselves, and next thing you know he's thrown out his back. Plus, I hate the thought of you in a hotel when you could be here, catching up."

She ushers us in to an air conditioned, richly-furnished sitting room. A middle-aged man with light brown hair looks up from his phone as we enter, and his expression morphs from concentration to welcoming in an instant. He stands with a grimace and greets Harry just as warmly as Mrs. Longbottom did. "Frank Longbottom," he says, hobbling forward to shake my hand and clap me on the shoulder. "You must be George."

"Yes, sir. That's me."

_Lame._

"And this must be Teddy," Mr. Longbottom says, crouching down to Teddy's level now that he's off Ginny's shoulders in order to fit through the doorways. "How old are you now, young man?"

Teddy diligently puts up three fingers, while smiling shyly.

"Use your words, Ted," Harry prods, gently.

"'M tree!" Teddy says, before shuffling behind my leg.

"Three! No, that can't be right. I distinctly remember that just last year, you were two. Where has the time gone, Teddy?" Mr. Longbottom teases grandly.

We soon find ourselves sitting with refreshments and making small talk with Frank and Alice - that's what we've been told to call them since "we're all adults, here." Teddy makes himself comfortable in the corner, where the Longbottoms have set out a variety of children's toys, pillows, and blankets.

The gist of the small talk is that everyone is good. Everyone is tired of the pandemic, but grateful for their own health, blah blah blah blah blah.... The travel is starting to wear on me, and the overly chilled room is making me sleepy. It's only the occasional nudge from Harry that keeps me from zoning out completely. Ginny shoots me looks every few minutes to let me know she regrets agreeing to this excursion, even if it means free dinner. Finally, we get to the juicy gossip part of the chat.

"We were so surprised to hear he and Hannah had broken up. But two months ago he shows up here with a couple of bags asking if he can stay for a bit. He thought they maybe just needed a break from each other, with them both at home all the time, but Frank and I have been holed up together for thirty years and we don't feel the need to separate," Alice says with a shrug in response to some question I didn't hear Harry ask. "They went back to living together after a few weeks, but he was back here just as quickly and I think it's really the end."

"That's awful," Harry says. "I thought they were--"

"In it for the long-haul, yes, yes, we all did," Alice cuts across Harry flippantly. "He had asked for advice about choosing rings just this last January. Of course, he wasn't going to ask until he finished his thesis, but I know he was thinking about it."

"If you don't mind me asking... what happened?" Harry asks. "Neville didn't really say much on the phone. Just asked if we had a few hours free to help him move while we were here."

"Well, that's the thing. Nothing really happened, by the sounds of it," Alice says.

"They were just forced to spend more time together," Frank answers, shaking his head with a sigh. "Guess they hadn't done much of that with how busy they both usually are. Guess all the little changes in the last few years finally caught up to them."

"Is Neville alright?" Harry asks, concerned.

"Well, you'll see for yourself soon enough. I think the shock of it has worn off," Frank supplies. "It all seemed to happen so quickly. He should be here with the rental van soon. Hannah is visiting some friends this evening. It's been a bit piece-meal getting his belongings moved, so it'll be nice to have the last of his things sorted so we can all move on. He's made so much progress on his thesis recently. It's been a good distraction, if nothing else. For all that breakups are difficult, I really think you feel better in the end. He'll get there, I'm sure."

"What's he studying?" I ask. "Harry tried to explain it before, but..."

"Haha, yes," Alice laughs, knowingly. "Paleobotany isn't exactly a well-known field. He was planning to specialise in biology, but he ended up with an opportunity to join a climate change research project at the university and it lead to him focusing in paleobotany. It's the study of fossilised plants, but Neville's focus is basically deciphering clues from the fossil record to make inferences about ancient climates. Ancient, being like, millions of years ago. You'll have to pick his brain once he gets back if you want more details."

"Yeah, definitely."

"Harry mentioned that you were heading back to school, yourself, George. Is that right?" Frank asks, and I can almost hear Ginny's surprised glare boring through me.

_How is it that Ginny always knows things about you before anyone else in the family?_

"Er, yeah, actually," I say, straightening up and throwing an apologetic glance at Ginny. "Since I've been out of work for a bit, I ended up applying for the Master's programme at the University of Edinburgh. I'll have some funding to join a research project that is developing new technologies to cleanup oil spills in the ocean. They were looking for an engineer to round out the project team. It should be exciting. Something different, for sure. And it'll set me up well for chartership in a few years, so that's a bonus."

"Well, anything to keep busy!" Frank exclaims, jovially.

"Too right. I've been watching YouTube videos to refresh my calculus skills," I admit, sheepishly.

"Oofff, I know how that goes," a tall man with short cropped dirty blond hair, grey golf shorts, and a navy blue t-shirt with a large crest for Imperial College London says from the doorway. "I end up watching YouTube videos to refresh on statistics and it's a ruddy nightmare every time."

"Neville!" Harry cries, springing up from his seat to greet his friend.

I look over at Ginny and I'm surprised to see she's sucked in her bottom lip slightly as her eyes rake over Harry's best mate. She catches me staring at her and I raise my eyebrows in question. She scowls at me and rises to greet the new comer.

Honestly, I don't see it. Sure, Neville has kind eyes and an infectious smile, but he is not hot. I can't give him that. He has a touch of dark blonde stubble on his cheeks, still sporting a bit of baby fat. He isn't overweight, but he isn't thin either. His shoulders are broad, but he seems shorter than he is in reality because of the humility and uncertainty that radiates off him. The only striking feature I can identify is that he just _looks_ like a good person. Ginny shakes his hand as Harry introduces them, and I step forward as well after Harry clears his throat to get my attention.

"And this is Ginny's brother, George," Harry says from Neville's side. "My boyfriend."

"Good to meet you, George. Harry's texted me about you so much, it's good to know you are, in fact, real."

I chuckle, "same, Neville. Sorry to hear about the circumstances of the move."

Neville blushes and shifts on his feet. "Yeah, me too." He sighs, wistfully, then smiles. "It's for the best, I think. I really appreciate the help."

"'Course. I'm just glad you thought to ask," Harry says. "Should we get to it now or wait a bit?"

"Er, yeah. Now is good. Hannah texted a bit ago that she's left already. Guess we should crack on," Neville says, swinging his arms awkwardly as he claps one fist against an open hand, snapping his fingers in between.

Alice and Frank watch Teddy for us as we head off to Neville's flat. Harry rides with Neville in the moving van, so it's just me and Ginny in the car.

"Really, Gin? Two years celibate and _that's_ the guy that makes you reconsider?" I ask as soon as the passenger side car door closes.

"Shut up," Ginny says, buckling her seatbelt. "He seems nice."

"He seems like someone you'd walk all over," I counter.

"I would not."

I look at her out of the corner of my eyes, eyebrows raised.

"I wouldn't!" She insists. "I'm not a bitch, George!"

"I never said you were."

"Good. Because I'm not. And I'm not breaking my celibacy for some posh friend of Harry's," she defends quickly. "He just seems like a good person. It's kind of sexy."

I shake my head, but choose not to comment. We make quick work of Neville's belongings. He's already moved most of his clothes and the things he uses on a daily basis. What remains are heavy boxes of books, Neville's desk, bookcases, and school supplies, a worn recliner, kitchenware, and an absurd number of potted plants. Honestly, the most time-consuming part of the moving process is securing the plants inside the van so they won't fall over or slide during the journey. No one likes my suggestion of making Ginny ride back in the van, to hold the larger plants upright.

We haul everything up to Neville's room back at his parent's house and do our best to help him rearrange things so he has a path through the boxes. Harry rides back with Neville to the rental shop while Ginny and I get to know Frank and Alice a bit better. Alice barbeques in their garden as Frank sits in the lounger next to her giving advice while icing his sore back. Ginny sits next to Neville on the patio and Harry and I watch on, amused, as they slowly lean in closer and closer to each other as they converse. Harry and I chase Teddy around the garden playing a combination of tag and hide-and-seek. The toddler starts drifting off to sleep earlier in the evening than we expect, so Harry keeps shaking him awake until bedtime because we've learned our lesson five-times over about disrupting his sleep schedule.

I catch Ginny and Neville exchanging numbers before I drive her off back to her flat.

"Don't," she says immediately after she closes the passenger side door. My mouth is already open, forming the words that will tease her, but I close it at the look on her face. I've already won without saying anything, so I smirk instead. "Ugh, I think that's worse, actually," she groans as I drive off.

_We've still got it!_

"What's this about you going back to school?" Ginny asks, suddenly.

_Shit._

I sigh and say, "I was going to tell mum and dad first and then announce it when everyone was home."

"Good thing I can keep a secret," Ginny says.

"Yeah. I just didn't want to get anyone's hopes up about it until I was sure it would happen. I didn't know if the funding would work out or if they'd be accepting people into the programme with the state of things," I explain.

"George, it's fine," Ginny says, cutting me off. "I'm proud of you. You'll do great. And I won't blab. I wouldn't deprive mum of the chance to gloat to everyone and everything about your accomplishments."

I blush despite myself and smile shyly. "Thanks, Gin."

\--**--**--**--

The hand painted wooden sign that identifies my childhood home still hangs on the fence to the left of the gateway that leads to the Burrow. Errol is the first to greet us as we roll to a stop at the end of the rutted, dirt road. I can't believe the old mutt is still kicking. Charlie begged mum and dad for a puppy for three whole years after Ginny was born, promising that he and Bill were responsible enough to look after him. I'm sure our parents hoped chasing a dog around would sap some energy from me and Fred to make us more manageable. All of us boys, really. It didn't work out as planned, imagine that. That must make Errol twenty-one years old now.

_Damn. That's a good, long life for a dog._

His face is now completely washed out with white fur from his neck and chin and up past his eyebrows. His once jaunty stride is now more of a heavy lumber, and his once enthusiastic, wiggly greetings have been replaced by a more sedate tail wag. A gentle forehead pressing to my knee brings him to a stop at my feet and I crouch down to greet my old friend properly. The white hair has extended past his face, and I see that hair on his toes, arms, stomach, and back is even more flecked with white than when I last saw him. Even his eyes are tinged white with an unnatural cloudiness. His panting also seems a bit more laboured than I remember, but for all that it's clear he's hanging on by a thread, he still looks happy. That's Errol for you. He's may be dumber than a post and as lazy as a sack of potatoes, but he saved me from eating Brussels sprouts for about ten years, so I owe him my life. He always was a fan of laying in the sun on the porch, huffing at voles chirping in the fields beyond the house, but that was before he went deaf. Old age has suited him since he was eight years old. Teddy cautiously sidles up to me after encouraging nudges from Harry, and I help him pet Errol gently. Sweet, innocent giggles ring out when Errol tentatively licks Teddy's nose.

That's when the door to the kitchen flings open with a crash and mum bursts forward. Her apron is dusted lightly with flour, so I expect she's been baking to calm her nerves, even in the August heat. I don't quite run to greet her, like would happen in a Hollywood movie, but I do close our distance quickly and sweep her into a hug. Actually, it's difficult to say who sweeps who into the embrace, but it is me that holds mum up as she slowly dissolves into hysterics.

_I forgot how the guilt was always worse than the yelling._

Tell me about it, Freddo.

I guide mum back up to the house and sit her down on the sofa. I set a glass of cold water in front of her and rub her back as she calms down a bit.

"Look at me," mum mutters to herself, steadying her breath and wiping her eyes with the bottom corner of her apron, "making a fool of myself. I just couldn't shake the feeling it was too good to be true and you wouldn't make it here. I've missed you so much, George. I've been so worried. I'm s-so glad you're h-home." She nestles herself into a more sedate hug, and I lean the side of my face against the top of her head and repeat all of my apologies more sincerely than I've ever said them before as her tears renew.

Harry and Teddy stay outside with Errol, letting me and Mum have our moment without an audience. Errol has flopped onto his side and lazily lifted his back leg as Harry and Teddy rub his belly. The dog's eyes have drift closed, and he clicks his tongue contentedly. I can relate. There's really nothing like the comfort of home and family.

Mum fawns over both Harry and Teddy after I make the formal introductions. Mum is quite familiar with the two men in my life from all our video chats since January, but it's different getting to interact in person. Seeing them together, I conclude that Harry was meant to be amongst us Weasleys. Mum gives me a look like she just snapped a central puzzle piece into place after a long, tireless search.

Teddy sits on dad's lap after dinner, babbling on and on about Diggle as dad gently rocks them back and forth on the porch swing. Mum pets my hair whenever she walks by to grab more baked goods from the kitchen, and Harry squeezes my hand encouragingly throughout the night.

They are proud of me when I tell them about going back to school.

"Ahhhh, ha ha ha!" Mum squeals out a laugh and pulls me into the hundredth hug of the day. "Another postgraduate in the family! We didn't think any of you kids would be interested in higher education besides Bill and Percy. Oh, this is so wonderful! Oh, I can't wait to rub this in Dolores' face at quilt group! She always makes the nastiest remarks to me, but what does she _really_ have to brag about, I ask you?"

Dad claps me on the back with a wide smile before shaking my hand firmly. "So proud of you, George. So proud. You made a plan and you're following through. I told you the future was full of possibilities. Is the money all sorted? Because we can help you a bit this time around. It isn't like when you were at Bristol. Our financial situation here is better, so just let us know and I'm sure we can work something out," Dad offers earnestly.

"Thank you, both, really," I respond sincerely. "I've got it sorted though. I've saved up some money, and the funding from the project I was selected for covers a majority of the school fees and books. And I applied for a few scholarships since I had so much free time, so... yeah. Thank you for the offer, but I've got this taken care of."

"This calls for cake," Mum says, standing resolutely.

"Oh, no, Mum," I say trying to stop her as she reaches for the handle of the door to the kitchen. "You don't have to make a cake."

"You just leave her be, George," Dad shushes me. "He wants chocolate, dear. With those strawberry slices on top. Isn't that right, son?" Dad says with a wink. "Do you need me to pop over to the shop for whipping cream?"

I roll my eyes at Harry at their antics, but he looks as content as I feel in the warm, homey atmosphere of my parent's house.

The only hitch comes when we make our way to the stairs for bed. I'm not sure where we should sleep. I know for certain that I didn't leave my old room in any fit state when I ran. I don't know what to expect if I push the door open. Mum notices my hesitation when I start up the stairs with our bags in tow.

"George, dear," Mum says nervously, "I hope you won't be angry, but we made some changes to your old room." I cock my head and she continues. "We didn't really get rid of anything, only the stuff that was obvious you wouldn't miss, but it's all boxed up in the attic. I labelled the boxes meticulously so it would be easier for you whenever you came back. We just needed the space for when Bill and Percy come home now that the girls are getting so big. Since your room had the two beds already, we figured it made the most sense to use it as the kid room. We talked it over for months before we decided. I assure you it wasn't an easy decision," Mum finishes with an apologetic grimace.

I nod and let out a shaky, relieved breath. "Thank you, mum. I can't imagine that was an easy task for either of you."

"Are you upset?" Mum asks, anxiously.

"No," I huff out with a laugh. "I'm bloody relieved. And I'm sorry you had to do that alone."

Mum waves off my apology like she's been doing since I arrived. "It was actually good for me. Brought back so many memories." A watery smile lights her face as she says, "some of the things you boys kept in there... lord, help me. Your father and I hadn't laughed so hard in ages."

We say good night on the landing and Harry, Teddy, and I make our way up to my old bedroom. Knowing it's been repurposed sets my mind at ease as I push open the familiar door. The room is painted a light, buttery yellow, and lacy white drapes hang around the window. The wardrobe is painted white, and a flowery area rug covers the floor. Our old single beds sit closer together than they ever did when Fred and I lived here, but they had to make room for the bunk bed that is now tucked into the corner. A small, pink net hammock hangs in the corner above Fred's old bed and holds a small collection of stuffed animals. The only familiar things in the room besides our old beds are the scratches and dents in the moulding around the doors and window sill that we made over the course of eighteen years, but even those are covered by a fresh coat of paint.

The wall opposite the beds features black framed photos of various family members as toddlers. Black and white photos of my great-grand parents and grandparents are at the top, followed by sun-faded colour photos of my aunts, uncles, and parents, followed by a row of photos of my brothers and Ginny. We are all about two years old, and all us kids are wearing the same outfit, except me and Fred. Mum had picked out a new set of outfits so we would at least match each other for the traditional two-year-old photo. We are sporting 'F' and 'G' magnetic pins on our collars so they wouldn't get us mixed up, though I'm sure even at two years old Fred and I were switching name tags. Vic, Molly, and Dom's two-year-old photos are all on the wall. Dom's must be fresh off the presses since her birthday was two weeks ago. Lucy's frame holds her newborn photo. The real surprise is Teddy's photo, holding pride of place between Vic and Molly. Mum and Dad really are experts at making people feel welcome.

"You alright, love?" Harry asks, standing at my elbow, holding a sleepy Teddy.

"Yeah. I am." And I actually mean it.

\--**--**--**--

Charlie's the one that convinces me to visit Fred's grave. I picked him up at the station in Exeter alone the next morning. Harry thought we should have time to ourselves before total Weasley chaos descends on Friday afternoon. I can't actually remember the last time just Charlie and I talked, so we have a lot to catch up on. Even on video chats we always speak in a group, but Charlie doesn't always have the luxury of calling whenever he wants.

At Charlie's insistence we stop at a shop on our way out of town and pick up a cold pack of ciders, and I make the mistake of letting him drive from there.

"I'm having a drink with Fred," Charlie states as he pulls to a stop in the small gravel car park of the cemetery. "You can join us or you can stay here."

_Well, then. Table for three._

It's not as bad as I thought it'd be. As much as I love Harry and rely on him for comfort, I think this is something I needed to do with my brother. And of my brothers, Charlie is the best choice to be here with me now. We don't talk about Fred as we drink our ciders and soak up the sun. Sitting in the grass in front of Fred's headstone, we chat about our lives and share funny stories that might otherwise get us swatted or scolded by either mum or any of the parents in our family. Charlie designates me the driver and claims an uneven number of ciders for himself.

We don't lay flowers, and we don't tip out a measure of our drinks onto the floor. There are no tears, no confessions, or soliloquies. Charlie pats the top of Fred's headstone after he stands and stretches after a few solid hours of chat. "Good talk, Freddie. Until next time." And then he walks back to the car park.

I'm left standing on my own, and it's the first time I've ever really stared down a hunk of marble before. That's something they never show in movies. Whenever there's a funeral, at the end, the crowd is standing around the headstone, and the camera pans over the engraving just to drive the point home. Where's the movie scene where your mum is yelling at a sales rep over the phone about how it's impossible that they don't have record of the sale when the money was charged out four months ago, and that they had better double check because she's not letting her baby rest in an unmarked grave. Where's the movie scene where after another month your mum sinks tiredly into her seat and reports that the headstone is placed and, yes, they did spell everything correctly, but the colour's a bit more on the yellow side than what the catalogue showed, but... oh well. At least it's finally there.

I don't know what to do with myself in this moment. Is it callus to just leave? Am I avoiding confrontation of my feelings if I don't pour my heart out here? Will Charlie judge me? Is something wrong with me?

_You don't have to say goodbye, Georgie. I'm here with you. Always. Whether you like it or not. It's not a movie. My voice isn't going to fade away now that you're moving on. It's not some weird divine intervention where I guide you to the people you need to replace me and then fuck off to the afterlife. A cloud isn't going to wink out a rainbow (cue music, roll credits). We're Fred-n'-George Weasley. Never one without the other. Cry if you need to or don't. Tell stories or don't. Pour booze out or don't. You're never shaking me off. Not in life, and not in death._

_Now, go drive Charlie home. Mum's waiting._

"Yeah. Okay. Until next time, Freddo."

\--**--**--**--

The chaos arrives in waves on Friday. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny arrive together mid-morning, then Percy, Audrey, and the girls tumble in after lunch. Bill, Fleur, and the girls arrive just before dinner. We unconsciously split into men in the garden, and women on the porch. Teddy and the girls run back and forth between the groups as they play. Harry and I are forced to vacate our room, and between the choices of two camp beds set up in Charlie's room or two camp beds set up in a tent in the garden, we choose the garden. The house is too hot this time of year anyway.

It's definitely not the best night of sleep I've had, but it's forgotten in the morning when we pack up the cars and head for the coast. My grandparents live in a small community in northern Torquay. We don't want to risk their health given the pandemic, so we set ourselves up with a nice spot on Oddiecombe beach as they watch and chat from a distance. The kids have a hard time staying away from their great-grandparents, and, admittedly, I do, too. Gran and Granddad Weasley make an exception to greet me, since it's been so long.

"At some point in time, we have to be realistic about what's ahead for us," Granddad explains as we survey everyone playing at the water's edge. "Your Gran and I have lived long lives, and while we aren't ready for the grave just yet, we also never figured we'd spend our last years cooped up at home when our metal hips and knees are still working. We aren't going to say, 'to hell with the rules,' but we also can't miss any more time with you kids. If I get sick from this one day amongst family... well, that's better than getting it from a stranger at the shops. At least we have this day."

"Wow, Granddad. That's really morbid," I comment lightly, and he chuckles.

"How about you live into your eighties and see if you don't come out of it a little bit morbid," he says. "We've lost six good friends this spring and summer. I'm not blind or overly optimistic. I'm grateful to be here with all of you, and I'll be just as grateful come Christmas, because whether it sounds like it or not, your Gran and I are planning to make it through this."

"That's good to hear, because we aren't planning to lose you, either."

\--**--**--**--

The weekend passes in a whirlwind of Weasleys, but thankfully there isn't any drama. Well, not any drama of the bad sort. Ron and Hermione announce that they will be setting a date for their wedding once a vaccine for the virus begins distribution. We pop open bottles of champagne and sparkling cider that mum's apparently had stashed for years for this occasion. Bill and Fleur announce that they've started the process to adopt a child. Being back in the Weasley fold means that I was able to actively help Bill through their third miscarriage in the spring. We aren't surprised by their announcement, and I know that whoever is adopted into this family will be welcomed enthusiastically, no matter their hair colour.

I couldn't have planned a better return trip if I'd tried. I even managed to sort through a few boxes in the attic before getting overwhelmed. Harry sits with me as I set aside odds and ends to bring back to Edinburgh with me. I recount story after story to him, and while my heart aches, it's also fiercely glad that I have these stories. I may not like the world without Fred, but I definitely don't want a world where Fred never existed. The ache reminds me that he was real. He earned the ache. I'll have this ache forever. This ache is the price you pay for love and family. In the three years of my self-imposed exile, I familiarised myself with a different ache. That ache comes hand in hand with guilt and self-loathing. It's not an ache I want anymore. It's definitely not an ache that I need to survive. I wish I'd seen it sooner.

I could argue that the path I went on lead me to Harry, but who's to say Harry and I wouldn't have met some other way? Edinburgh has engineering jobs. I could have moved there for work, or gone there on holiday. I could have crossed paths with Harry at any number of points in my life if things had worked out differently. You'll never hear me insinuate that I had to lose Fred to find Harry. I reject that concept. I hate when I hear people say stuff like that. 'Well, it was worth it in the end, right?' It isn't a trade off. All I can be grateful for is that when I had the choice of either shutting another person out or letting them in, I chose the latter for the first time in three years. I know how lucky I am that I found love and family as a result. It could have so easily gone the other way.


	12. I'm Gonna Be The Man Who's Growing Old With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: the epilogue that just kept epiloguing. 
> 
> Posted December 15th - 13,400 words
> 
> Chapter title from The Proclaimers song 'I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)'

**July 2022**

"Well, I did it. Let's eat!" I cry as I greet my family after the graduation ceremony, decked out in my fancy graduation robes. Mum squeals again, pulling me in for a hug.

"We're so proud of you, George!" she says, tearfully as she squeezes me.

Dad claps me on the back and smiles brightly. "Knew you had it in you. And it'll all be worth it to have a career you like."

"Yeah, yeah," I say dismissively. "I'm just in it for the money."

Mum scolds in a low voice, "be careful what you say in front of Teddy. He's very impressionable."

_Don't we know it._

Harry waggles his eyebrows at me over mum's shoulder. Teddy is holding Harry's hand, letting himself fall limp and pivoting wildly on his heels. Teddy looks bored out of his mind, and I can't blame him. The speaker went on and on and on. Someone needs to tell them we graduates don't need to be inspired as we're leaving - we just need the diploma and the photo of us walking across the stage, shaking hands with the Deans we've never met before.

The rest of the family isn't here to celebrate with us, but that's because Edinburgh is a bit of a jaunt from Southern England where most of my family still live. Bill's still the closest, living in Durham, and we see them most often. Teddy gets along well with Victoria and Dominique, but Louis is his best friend. While Bill and Fleur had intentions of adopting a newborn baby, the first opportunity they were given to adopt was three-year-old Louis in the fall of 2020. He was sweet and shy their first meeting. He obviously needed a bit more care than the average toddler, though. He was behind in his development, particularly speech and fine motor skills, but the social workers suspected that was due to neglect, rather than any medical conditions. Victoria in particular glommed onto Louis from the off, and it was clear he was meant to be a Weasley. And for all that they would miss out on the newborn milestones, like baby's first smile, baby's first laugh, baby's first swim, baby's first tooth, baby's first steps, etcetera, etcetera ... there were still plenty of firsts ahead for all of them as a family. It wasn't the worst thing in the world to skirt around midnight feedings and pesky sleep schedules. Seeing Louis blossom into the bright, inquisitive, and outgoing kid that he is now has its own unique parental rewards. Plus, Bill enjoys not being the only ginger in the house anymore.

Hagrid, Mrs. Sprout, and Ara, as well as a few of my classmates and Harry's coworkers, join our celebrations in the back garden that afternoon. Bill's family had opted out of the ceremony and used the time to set up for the little party. Teddy is happy to have his cousins here to run around with and break up the monotony. Louis and Dom desperately want their parents to get them a bunny like Diggle, but Victoria's allergies are too sensitive for that. They make the most of their time together, as always.

Soon enough, our guests leave. A few days of entertaining family pass by quickly. I resume my job search, which seems promising for the number of interviews I've been to already, but I keep getting the same response. "We'll have to see how projects and budgets shake loose for next quarter. When we do, we'll give you a call." It's not exactly reassuring as the summer progresses, but being temporarily unemployed means saving on childcare, and I get to indulge in daily outdoor time, craft time, snack time, and nap time.

_Sign me the fuck up._

Soon we're packing up our dated little hatchback that I found for a steal and fixed up last summer, and heading out for our summer holiday excursion. Harry wanted to set off to the continent for a special holiday in France or maybe Spain as a graduation present, but I didn't want to since I haven't had a steady income in so long. Plus, I've grown rather fond of camping in the Highlands. We are alone, sitting on the shore of a lake, watching Teddy search for frogs, when I ask the question.

"You realize we've known each other for three years now?"

Harry shifts a little closer to me and rests his head on my shoulder. "Yeah. I suppose it's almost time to trade you in for a newer model."

I chuckle along with him and wrap his fingers with mine in my lap. "You sure you're not interested in an extended warranty?" I ask, trying to keep my voice sounding light, not betraying my anxiety.

_You have absolutely nothing to be anxious about, Georgie. He'll say yes._

"Dunno. Is it a scam? Those offers always seem like a scam," Harry says absently, eyes drifting closed for a moment with a sigh. It was a long drive at the end of a long week, after all.

"Harry..." I start, then pause. I feel, more than see him raise his eyebrows in question.

Fred is jumping up and down in the stadium of my mind, face painted, screaming his head off, and waving a sign that says ' _GO FOR IT, GEORGIE!_ '

"Do you want to get married?"

"Yes," Harry answers immediately without raising his head.

"Alright, then," I say, kissing his knuckles, then lapsing into silence. Well, silent except for Fred's whooping in my head.

"Wait, was that a proposal? Or just a feeler question?" Harry asks, minutes later.

"Trying to back out already?" I tease, and Harry finally sits up to look at me. He raises his eyebrows in question, again, so I take up his other hand and kiss his knuckles again.

"Harry Potter. Will you marry me?" I ask in a low, clear voice. Harry swallows audibly as his green eyes bore into mine, unblinking. Then his lips quirk into a lopsided smile.

"Yeah, okay. Where's my ring?" He asks, pulling his hands away from mine to rub his palms together.

"At the shop, you greedy bastard," I reply.

"You didn't get a ring first? That's so tacky," Harry says, but I'm not having it.

"Okay, no. You only get to play this 'so tacky' game if you can name two, unmarried blokes who actually know their ring size. And, while we're at it, if you can tell me _your_ ring size. We would have ended up at the shop either way."

Harry pretends to think it over with an infectious smile. "Fair enough."

He leans in for a kiss that grows a little heated as our moment of bliss stretches.

"Stop it!" Teddy calls as he runs back to the picnic blanket we've set up to drink some water. "Kissing is gross!"

_You're gross, cock blocker!_

"Sorry, Tedster. George and I are just really happy. We're going to get married, just like Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione did last year," Harry explains excitedly.

"Cool! I'm going to marry Morgan," Teddy replies brightly.

"Wait, what?!" I yelp, completely caught off-guard. I share a look with Harry who's smile has shifted to uncomfortable confusion. I pull out my mobile to text Dad for advice on whether this is a normal statement for a five year old to make as Harry needles the kid for more information.

"Morgan from Sunday school?" Harry asks cautiously. Teddy nods emphatically, and Harry sighs heavily, rubbing his hand down his face. "Okay, kid. Back up and tell us everything."

**\--**--**--**--**

**December 2022**

"I'm going to call them," Harry says resolutely, and I sigh heavily in reply.

"Stop micromanaging, Harry. Teddy is doing just fine with Percy. He and Molly get along really well. Plus, you know Percy gets the kids to bed earlier than we do, so it's not even a good time to chat. And, we haven't been gone that long."

Memories of Teddy crying by the door to Percy's flat as we said our goodbyes just two and a half hours ago assault my mind and I'm having to suppress the urge to call myself, all of a sudden.

"We won't even be gone a week. Let's start this honeymoon off on the right foot."

Harry and I simultaneously shift our weight to our right, and lift our left legs in unison at the stupid, classic dad joke.

I grin and shake my head at him, pushing him off balance. "You're ridiculous."

"Me? No, you're the ridiculous one, here!"

"We'll call Teddy once we land in New Zealand. There's literally nothing to worry about. Percy and Audrey have it covered."

"We could have brought him with us," Harry says for the thousandth time.

"Yeah, and he could have caught us shagging up against a wall. But we'll never known now because our flight is boarding, and Teddy is actually looking forward to spending time with his cousins."

"We never get to shag up against walls," Harry comments, thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I know. Makes too much noise."

"I guess, but I was thinking walls are really cold. And hard. Not exactly romantic," Harry says with a shrug.

I stare at him, unamused. "Don't ruin this for me."

Harry doesn't respond apart from a wink and a smirk.

We queue up to board the plane as the flight attendants have instructed. Harry plays absently with the ring on his finger. Mine feels big and heavy on my own finger, and I'm struggling not to fidget, as well. We move forward two steps toward the counter, where the flight attendants are wearing Santa hats, even though Christmas was two days ago. It may not have been our brightest idea to get married on December 23rd, since we'll probably never have a romantic anniversary getaway in future, but we knew the family would all be together, so it made sense. But the trade off for a winter wedding is that we have to honeymoon somewhere warm. Neither of us have been to New Zealand, so it counts as an adventure. And it'll be nice to see real mountains, not the worn-down, eroded nubs of the UK. We'll get to celebrate the New Year half a world away.

"Come along, husband," Harry calls, as the line moves again. "Adventure awaits!"

**\--**--**--**--**

**September 2023**

"First day of school! First day of school! First day of school!" Teddy chants as he runs down the stairs with his back pack on, wildly jumping the last step. He has been quoting Finding Nemo at certain points over the last week in his excitement. I had trouble falling asleep because the catchy chant played on repeat in my mind all night. When did our toddler get so big?

"Good morning, Edward!" I greet him, setting down a special plate of first-day-of-school breakfast, kissing the top of his head in the process. We've been calling him Edward over the summer to get him used to hearing his given name, since we use it so rarely. I don't know what the teacher will think of us if our kid shows up not knowing his name.

"Ugh, geroff!" Teddy cries, shoving me away lightly and patting his hair as if he expects to find a loogie.

_Who does he think he's dealing with? We would never be so obvious._

Harry pounds down the stairs, hair wet, fixing the buttons on his shirt as he walks to the kitchen. He greets me and Teddy brightly before preparing his travel mug with coffee. He swipes a bit of breakfast from my plate after he sits at the table. He's never been one for big breakfasts on weekday mornings, so I've made a habit of preparing a tiny bit extra to share with him.

Harry ushers us out to the garden, armed with his camera and the sign I made of Teddy the Tortoise Goes to School: Year 1. I made it to look like a book cover, and I haven't decided whether we'll reuse this sign for years to come, changing the year number, or if I'll make a new one every year. Teddy diligently stands in front of the hydrangeas, holding my sign, smiling wide, letting his tongue poke through his missing front teeth.

He bounces on his feet anxiously as Harry switches out my sign for the second one that they had worked on last night. This one was decorated by Teddy while Harry quizzed him and wrote out the answers. Harry had gotten the idea from Fleur, as a way to track how the kids' likes and interests change over the years. I agree it'll be a fun way to chronicle Teddy's childhood.

Edward R. L. Potter

Age: 6

Favourite Colour: Green, but sometimes purple. Oh! And yellow, like happy yellow, not boring yellow.

Favourite Food: Spaghetti

Favourite Activity: Playing with Diggle

When I grow up, I want to be a: ~~bus driver~~ ~~giraffe~~ zookeeper

Teddy tosses the signs on the table without a care and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the door. He sits on the bench by the door to put his shoes on. For all that it seemed to take him ages to potty train, he picked up reading and tying his shoe laces exceptionally fast. I still check that the laces are tight before letting him jump off the bench and make a beeline for the door.

"Wait!" Harry calls, shoving his lunch in his shoulder bag and distractedly checking his pockets for his mobile. Our nice camera is still dangling from his neck as he shoves the tripod into my hand so he can hastily put on his shoes. "We didn't get a family photo!"

"Oh, come on!" Teddy groans, letting his head fall back in exasperation. "Do we have to?"

"Yes!" Harry and I reply in unison.

"Can we do it later?"

"No!"

I set up the small tripod in the street as Harry smoothes out Teddy's hair and outfit, straightening the backpack on our little man's shoulders. The front door is still as pink as the day I met Harry, but he did finally ask me to touch it up. There technically aren't any Lupins living here, since Harry changed Teddy's name when he adopted him. The lawyer suggested it would be less confusing, legally, for he and his son to share a surname, which I can't really argue. But instead of writing out 'The Potters' as I had once suggested, Harry asked me to get more creative. So my best attempts at painting Diggle the Bunny, Teddy the Tortoise, George the Garden Gnome, and Harry the Hermit Crab (his preference to 'that fucking hen' in all the sequels to my first book) now adorn our door. The figures can be made out just above Teddy's shoulders when I set the timer and hustle to join them.

The camera and tripod are abandoned quickly in the entry hall as Teddy nags us to "get a move on!"

The swell of emotion I feel as I watch Teddy talking animatedly to a few classmates as we look back from the doorway is difficult to describe. I'm relieved that Teddy is still as excited as he's been all summer, and infinitely glad he isn't having a meltdown at the thought of his parents leaving him like three kids are doing right now.

Where has the time gone? If we blink will we find him sitting his GCSEs? Leaving home? Graduating from university?

One look at Harry tells me his thoughts have migrated to a similar place.

"I'm not crying," Harry says as we walk down the hall to the exit.

"I know, love," I say, scratching at my eyes, as well. "I'm not crying either."

**\--**--**--**--**

**December 2026**

"Who told you Santa isn't real, buddy?" I ask Teddy in a hushed voice hoping Jamie won't overhear.

"Kyle."

_Ugh, I hate that kid._

"He said only stupid people still believed in Santa. He said that it's all a lie!" Teddy accuses wetly.

_Kyle's the stupid one!_

"Oh, Teddy. You're not stupid, and Santa isn't a lie. Do you want to know the real story?" I ask, snagging a few biscuits off the counter before guiding the tearful nine-year-old up to his room. We settle down on the little striped beanbag chairs facing each other, and Teddy wipes his running nose on his sleeve as he sniffles.

"Teddy, it's true that we haven't been completely honest with you about Santa," I start off, not enjoying seeing another little spark of childhood fade away from my son. "There aren't flying reindeer, a man in a red suit doesn't slide down the chimney we don't even have, and it's not possible for one man to deliver presents to every child on earth in a single night. That part of the story is make believe, but that doesn't mean Santa is a lie. Remember all those other stories about Father Christmas? Saint Nicholas? Santa is based off legends of real people that lived a long, long time ago. And you know that no one gets to live forever, right?" Teddy nods, watching me with rapt attention. "Well, the original Santa was so generous, so kind, so well-liked, so well-respected, and had done so much good in his lifetime that after he was gone, people were inspired to keep giving gifts and spreading joy and hope hundreds of years later to honour his memory. So, in a way, Santa is very real because all of us become Santa once we're old enough. And I think you're old enough now to carry on Santa's legacy, don't you?"

Teddy looks at me solemnly as he asks, "how do I do it?"

"Well, you can help wrap up the gifts we'll put in the stockings. And on Christmas Eve, after Jamie falls asleep, Dad and I will come wake you up, and we'll have to be really quiet to sneak out of the room without waking Jamie, and then we'll lay Santa's gifts out. And once that's done, we'll have to share the plate of biscuits and the glass of milk between us. Does that sound like something you'd like to do?" I ask.

Teddy nods his head vigorously.

"Great! I'm really glad you'll get to help us this year. Because do you want to know what the best part of being Santa is?" Teddy shakes his head. "When Jamie opens his presents, and that big smile erupts on his face, he starts giggling, and you can see the spark of pure joy in his eyes, you'll know that you're the one that helped make him so happy. That's the real magic. Making people happy. Giving hope and joy. Encouraging them believe in the impossible. Showing people that they are loved. Do you think you can handle that, Teddy? It's a big responsibility."

Teddy nods solemnly again. I hand Teddy a biscuit and we both nibble on our snack as Teddy pesters me with questions about what else being Santa entails. Just when I think we've gotten to a better place, Teddy asks, "is Bryony going to be Santa, too?"

I sigh, not wanting to break Teddy's heart. We knew it wouldn't be easy to be foster parents, but Harry convinced me it would be a good thing. "Yes, but Teddy, we've talked about this. Bryony's granddad is doing a lot better, so he gets to go home from hospital before Christmas. Bryony's going to be Santa at her own home."

"What about the gifts _Santa_ ," Teddy winks twice, conspiratorially, "is supposed to leave for her here? How will we get them to her Christmas Eve?"

"We'll wrap up her presents before she leaves and she'll open them at home with her granddad."

"Oh," Teddy says, deflating a bit. Bryony is seventeen and just about the coolest person ever in Teddy's eyes. As much as he likes being a big brother, he really likes having a teenage girl to follow around and call his friend. At least Bryony's been a good sport about it. She really doesn't mind making a few quid child minding for us, either. Harry and I have actually enjoyed a few more date nights than usual since she was placed with us while her only living relative convalesced in hospital, then the care home. Now that he is well enough, Bryony will be leaving us. We've welcomed in six kids so far, and all have been temporary placements except Jamie. The court is giving his mum one last chance to turn her life around so she can regain custody of her son. I'm not the sort of person that is going to wish someone continues to struggle with addiction, but I also don't want to have to say goodbye to Jamie. We're still months away from the courts making a final decision, but we'll have the adoption papers ready for when they do, just in case.

It's nice having a toddler in our home again.

**\--**--**--**--**

**March 2027**

"How's Switzerland?"

"Eh, pretty neutral," I quip, watching Harry's eyes roll on the screen of my mobile, and I smile in triumph that he didn't see that coming.

"Did your presentation go alright?" Harry asks. "Were many people there?"

"Yeah, it was packed, actually. There were a ton of really good questions at the end. I think I got across all the possibilities with my technology. There was one company in particular that wanted to discuss it all in more detail. They're going to take me out to eat at some fancy-pants restaurant tomorrow," I say, puffing out my chest. "Oh, and they had six translators working the event, and I've gotten at least a dozen emails from internationals wanting to discuss pricing for their projects."

"That's massive! Congratulations!" Harry says, brightly.

"I just wish you were here. Have I mentioned how incredible this hotel is? The fireplace, Harry, the fireplace!" I gush, moving the camera to show off the room.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember from when you showed me last night. And the night before that. And the day you got there," Harry drones.

"Well, we definitely have to ditch the kids one of these years and spend a romantic anniversary weekend here."

"What, and miss Christmas? Are you kidding?" Harry challenges.

"There are so many Weasleys they won't even realise we're gone."

"True, true. I could probably con Neville into impersonating me for an hour or two."

"That's the spirit! And Charlie and I look enough alike he can impersonate me," I say, mildly.

"Yeah, I'll slip Nev a pair of my old glasses and a black wig, and we'll get Charlie to put a pillow under his shirt and we'll be set!" Harry says, cheekily. I look down and caress my little pudge, then look back up at Harry with a dramatically sad face.

"Why you gotta be like that, Harry?"

"Because you're thirty-four and you're still trying to eat like you're twenty-two. I've seen your cholesterol numbers, George. You need to take better care of yourself. We both do."

He's right, and I can't dispute it. Work has been so stressful this last year while we finalised our design and applied for all the patents. I didn't notice I was slowly gaining weight, but there's nothing like a suit jacket you haven't worn in two years to shatter your self-image. I started running in the mornings, but that lasted all of three weeks before I twisted my knee and then hobbled around for a month and a half. Getting old sucks.

"I just want you to know I miss you a little less than I did thirty seconds ago," I reply moodily.

"Oh, and here I thought you and little Gideon might want to let off a little steam now that you aren't stressing over your presentation," Harry says, offhand, but his eyes glint wickedly as he closes the bedroom door behind him.

"What did you have in mind?"

**\--**--**--**--**

**May 2027**

"I'm not saying we have to move, Harry, I'm just saying they're offering _a lot_ of money. We can't just turn that down outright without considering it first."

"You really want to move to London?!" Harry yells, throwing his hands up in question.

"No! Want is a really strong word for it. They're offering me a six-figure salary, Harry. I'd be senior engineer overseeing all aspects of the designs and manufacturing. I'd have so many more resources and funding to advance and produce my technology. They have a team of lawyers to deal with all the patents. I'd basically be running an office. An office that doesn't currently exist because this company wants to start one up based solely off the presentation I gave at the conference in Switzerland."

"If they're building up this office for you, why can't they start up the business here in Edinburgh?" Harry asks, hotly.

"Because I'm not the only one they are bringing on and everyone else already lives in London. Please, Harry, please calm down and discuss this with me rationally. It's basically my dream job. Not to mention most of our family are in and around London, so we'd get to see them more. Also, with me making so much more money, we'd get to travel like we're always talking about. We wouldn't have to spend every one of our holidays travelling to Devon, because we'd be able to go for more weekend trips. We don't even have to sell this place. We could be slumlords! And if you decide you hate it, we can move back."

"Yeah, but only after you've met the contract terms. How long is it?" Harry asks.

"Five years."

"What about _my_ job? What about all of the kid's friends? What about fostering? What about Mrs. Sprout and Hagrid?"

"For starters, let's not forget that you've been complaining about work lately. I know things haven't been easy since McGonagall was promoted and Snape took her place. This could be good for you, too. I think you deserve to be happy at work, and you really haven't been the last few years."

"Forensics jobs are really competitive, George. I could be out of work for months. If we don't sell this place, and I don't get a job right away, we'll be struggling to make ends meet even with the huge salary. London's fucking expensive!"

"Do you realise how much crime there is in London? It's way more than here. And with your experience, they'll be begging you to take a job with them. It'll be no problem."

Harry lets out an incredulous scoff. "Do you hear yourself? Oh sure, let's you, me, and the boys fuck off to Crimeville, UK. Should get a lot more exercise what with having to dodge muggers and paedos at every corner. Great idea, George. You're really selling me on this," Harry replies with heavy sarcasm.

"Well, obviously we'd live somewhere safe," I say, backtracking, but Harry just glares as he continues folding laundry on his side of the bed. "Okay, let's say, hypothetically, you didn't find a job right away. We'd be fine. Do you realise how much we could make off of renting this place?" I say, gesturing around the room, holding Jamie's superhero knickers. "And Mrs. Sprout is right there to be our property manager. We could pay her to keep an eye on the place, and if we put that gate in the fence like she's been wanting us to, she could take over gardening for us."

Harry moodily sets the folded stacks of clothes back in the empty basket, drops it on the floor with a _thump!_ and pulls another basket to him from the centre of the bed.

"The boys will adjust. They'll make new friends, and they may even be happy to be closer to their London cousins," Harry shoots me a sceptical look, but doesn't interrupt. "And we aren't fostering anyone right now. We could reach out and ask them not to place anyone with us while we decide. That way we aren't letting anyone down." Harry spikes a folded pair of socks on the duvet in his irritation.

_Real mature, buddy. Real mature._

"And, Hagrid's retiring soon," I remind him, pressing on.

"No he isn't. He just keeps saying he will, but he's never going to leave," Harry scoffs.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," I say, thinking back to my last conversation with the man. His girlfriend, Maxime, is due to retire in a few months, and she's convinced him to spend an entire year travelling the world with her. He's seriously considering closing the shop. He actually asked me if I wanted to buy the Hut, or if I knew anyone who'd be interested in managing it while he's gone. I wish we could, but after all the fees and expenses we had for Jamie's adoption, we're back in saver mode.

"I didn't realise you were so unhappy here in Edinburgh," Harry grinds out, jaw tense.

An exasperated growl escapes my throat. "You aren't _listening_ to me, love. I don't _want_ to leave. I love our home. I love our friends here. We have a good life here, and if staying here is what makes sense for us, then I will happily turn down this offer. I'll still have a great job that I love here, with opportunities to advance and all that crap. I just want you to look at this contract and tell me what you think." I pick up the thick, yellow envelop that holds a ridiculously good offer, and wave it at him for the hundredth time since I received it two days ago. "All I want is a reasonable conversation with you about whether this could maybe, possibly, be something that could be good for all of us."

"Fine," Harry says, holding out his hand for the paperwork. "I'll _look_."

I roll my eyes and slap the envelop down in his outstretched hand. He moves to sit up against the headboard as he flips through the packet. I continue folding laundry silently as Harry makes throaty scoffs and indignant noises. He mutters things under his breath like, "who do they think you are? Elon Musk?" and "an assistant? Why the fuck would you need an assistant?" Or, "TWELVE WEEKS PAID VACATION? Jesus. Christ. No wonder you like this contract." As well as, "signing bonus in the form of company stock? Are you shitting me?" and "relocation reimbursement? Laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?" And finally, "is there a typo in this retirement plan?"

"Nope. I called already to make sure," I say, trying to suppress my smirk at the look on Harry's face.

"Five years in London would almost be worth it just to secure this plan," he mumbles, begrudgingly, throwing the packet onto the duvet in front of him. I let him think it over as I finish folding the last basket of clothes.

"Love, we don't have to. I'm not trying to pressure you. If I turn this down, I won't have regrets. Our life here is everything I need. But you see now that it's too good an offer not to at least consider, right?"

Harry puffs out a breath and picks at a loose thread in the duvet. "When do they need an answer?"

"End of the month. We've got a few weeks to think it over."

Harry nods, mouth set in a tight frown. His expression is positively forlorn, and I think I know what his answer will be. My expression probably mirrors his as I stack the baskets of folded laundry by the door to deal with in the morning. I look around our room and I'm already homesick for it.

"Are you like, really hungry now?" Harry asks, suddenly.

"God, yes. Ice cream?" I suggest.

"Ice cream," he confirms, giving me a quick kiss before we sneak downstairs.

**\--**--**--**--**

**October 2027**

We get settled in a small rental along the Thames in Richmond. While the Thames is no Port of Leith, and Richmand Park is no Holyrood, the setting reminds us a bit of home, which we hope will ease the transition. Teddy is not thrilled about the move, even if he likes getting to spend more time with Molly and Lucy. Jamie and Rose are two peas in a pod, though. They're both even more excited about seeing Aunt Ginny on the reg. It figures that when we finally live close enough to get season tickets for her club matches, she'd be on maternity leave. We aren't sure if her and Neville planned to have a kid right now, or if the little parasite in her belly was the result of a slip up, but I'm mature enough now not to ask.

At least not when everyone's around.

Ginny rolls her eyes, petting her swollen stomach, feet elevated on a pile of pillows stacked on her coffee table.

"I'm thirty-one, knobhead! Of course we planned this! I mean, I held off as long as I could," Ginny reassures me, "but it seems like the right time now. I'm gonna be a mum in a few weeks. Can you believe it? Just picture the cutest little baby girl in my arms here," Ginny says, cradling the air above her massive bump, wearing a proud smile.

_Make a joke about pickles. Make a joke about pickles. Make a joke about pickles. Offer her pickles. She probably has some in the fridge. You should have listened to me when I told you to get pickles at the shop. Come on, Georgie, don't let me down. MAKE A JOKE ABOUT PICKLES!!!!_

"Yeah, I can believe it. What I still can't believe is that you married _Neville Longbottom_ ," I tease, like I do every time we've been alone together in the last four years. In all honesty, I couldn't have asked for a better partner for my sister. She knows I approve her choice tenfold. We wouldn't be us without a little dark banter. "Kidding aside, I'm really happy for you, sis. You're going to be an amazing mum."

"Ah, thanks, George," Ginny says, a little misty-eyed.

_Yeah, yeah, keep stating the obvious. Or maybe, MAKE A JOKE ABOUT PICKLES!_

"Hey, Gin?"

"Hmm?"

"How does a cucumber become a pickle?"

"I don't know, like vinegar or something," Ginny says absently as she checks something on her mobile.

"It goes through a _jarring_ experience."

_YYYYEEESSSSSS!!!_

Ginny freezes, takes a deep breath, then glares at me.

"Hey, Gin. What do you call a cucumber from the rainforest?" Ginny continues glaring. "A tropickle."

"Stop."

"Why do we refer to problems as pickles?"

"No."

"Because they're _dill_ -emmas!"

"You aren't funny."

"Hey, Gin--"

"Argh! Why?!"

\--**--**--**--

 **Neville:** It's happening.

.

.

.

 **Neville:** False alarm.

.

.

.

 **Neville:** nvm. It's definitely happening.

.

.

.

 **Neville:** Welcome Lily Luna Longbottom. 3.2 kg, 48 cm. Mum and baby are well and resting.

 **Dad:** SHE'S A GINGER! Well done both of you!

It's actually quite strange that Ginny's the first Weasley to pop out a ginger. Bill's girls are both blonde, like their mum. Louis is ginger, but it's a darker red than the rest of the family. His ringlet curls are just about the cutest thing in the world. Percy's girls are brunette like their mum. Rose is brunette, as well, though she didn't inherit Hermione's curls. Her hair is thick like Ron's and stick straight. Their son Hugo is a bit of a mystery. He was born with thick black hair that all fell out over the first few weeks, and he's remained basically bald for the last year and a half since. He's just starting to get some light, wispy strands growing at the base of his skull, and bets have been placed amongst the family whether he'll be dirty blonde, brunette, or ginger. We can't see it being a different option, though Ron rejected my bet that the kid would be bald for life. "Don't jinx him, George! What is wrong with you?" Since Charlie and his wife are in their forties, we're all assuming there are no plans for Weasley babies from them. Little Lily may just be our last hope. Damn recessive genes!

 **George:** Congratulations! She's perfect! We'll bring by a hot dish tomorrow evening. Let us know if you're having any cravings. Love you!

**\--**--**--**--**

**September 2030**

"Dads? Can I dye my hair blue?" Teddy asks, as he helps clean the dishes after dinner.

I exchange a look with Harry who shakes his head dismissively.

I confidently reply, "no."

"Please?"

"No," Harry says.

"What if--?"

"Nope. Not even then."

"But Aaron's parents --" Teddy begins to whine.

"Bully for Aaron's parents," I say, cutting him off. "The answer is no."

"You're the worst!"

**\--**--**--**--**

**October 2030**

"But it's for my costume."

"No," I say, bored.

"Please?"

"No."

"They have short-term dyes. Couldn't we at least test it out before you say-"

I can see Harry shaking his head from the dining room table as he talks Jaime through a maths worksheet.

"No," I say, stressing the word with finality.

"ARGH! I hate you! So unfair!"

**\--**--**--**--**

**December 2030**

"It's all I want for Christmas!"

"Teddy. You're only thirteen. You are not dying your hair!" Harry says, exasperated.

"Well, what age is old enough to dye it? Plenty of kids at my school have coloured hair."

"Good for them. The answer is no, Ted. So please stop asking."

"You are ruining my life!" Teddy yells as he storms down the hall to his room.

"Oooo, you should get that put on a shirt and give it to me for Christmas," Harry calls after him before the door slams shut.

**\--**--**--**--**

**April 2031**

"If we let him dye his hair, it might soften the blow of telling him we're moving again this summer," I suggest to Harry as we discuss birthday ideas for Teddy as we get ready for bed.

Harry spits out his toothpaste and sighs heavily. "Fine. Let's do it. I don't think I can take much more of his sulking about this nonsense."

I wind my arms around Harry's waist from behind and kiss his neck. "You had a good run, love. Don't look at this as failure. Rather, as growth." I let out an involuntary _'oomph'_ when Harry elbows my stomach sharply with a glare in the mirror. "That was uncalled for. I'm booking him in at a salon, though. If we're having a blue-haired son, it's going to look professional."

**\--**--**--**--**

**June 2031**

We've finally managed it. We bought a cute-as-a-button brick house in a nice neighbourhood in London without having to sell any kidneys. It's put us in a better school district for Teddy and Jamie. Our youngest is really starting to show promise as an athlete, so he loves the green space of our back garden. Teddy never did develop any hand-eye coordination, but on the flip side, he is showing more promise as a cellist as the years pass on. His new school has a youth symphony, so maybe that will help win him over? Neither of the boys took the news of another move well, but we assured them this was the last one for a long while. And as it turns out, much like we were regarding potty training, we aren't above bribing our kids into having a more positive outlook. Since Diggle passed away, we haven't had another pet, so I'm trying to convince Harry to let us give him a dog for his birthday.

"No puppies, George," Harry says, over a miniature bottle of champagne we've been passing back and forth since all our drinkware is still packed away in boxes. We'll tackle the kitchen tomorrow, but for now we lay in the backyard staring up at the sky. The stars are difficult to pick out with the light pollution of the city, but it's still relaxing to lay back on the cool earth and breath the fresh air. "They are so much work. Please, we don't need any more chaos. I would love to have a dog. I think the boys would really like that. I'd prefer a medium to large dog over a small dogs, but use your judgement. No dogs under the age of three. And we don't need a dog that's trained to jump through a hoop on command or anything. All I ask is that it know 'sit' and 'stay'. We can handle training from there. And don't fuss about pure breeds. Mutts live longer."

"Well, okay then. Do you want to come with us to chose?" I ask.

Harry considers for a moment. "No. I trust you and the boys."

We've been in the London area for over three years now, and I can't bring myself to regret it. If I'm being honest, we really should have bought a house before now. We keep saying we never found the right one until now, but the real reason is it's taken this long to decide that London is going to be our home for the foreseeable future. With that five-year time limit on my initial contract, it was easy to put off buying as we felt things out. We're still renting out our home in Edinburgh, with no plans to sell. We miss living there even more than the boys, but the benefits of being close to my family can't be ignored, and Harry is really flourishing at the crime lab here. Being happy at work really does wonders for a person. Once he really settled in at work last year as he started making friends with his coworkers, Harry was finally ready to have a realtor look for properties that would suit us. The market is as crazy and competitive as ever, and I'm so glad the waiting game is over.

It's pure coincidence that Ron and Harry work out of the same district. Sometimes they work crime scenes together, and their little bromance is sweet. Ron and Hermione moved to Sheffield for a few years after Hermione finished school, but they moved to London a year before we did. We now live a mere fifteen minute walk from them. Ginny and Nev live closer to Percy on the other side of the city, but we make a point to get together as often as we can.

So, yeah, we miss Edinburgh, but neither of us can regret our choice to move.

"I know we keep talking about it and keep putting it off, but do you want to start fostering again?" Harry asks. "We have an extra room for it now."

I look sidelong at Harry and nuzzle a little closer. "Yeah, why don't we make an appointment for next week? Get some information. See if it'll be any different to how things were in Edinburgh."

Harry nods along. "We'll really do it this time. No more putting it off."

**\--**--**--**--**

**November 2031**

Mrs. Figg opens the door to a small room with a navy blue love seat in one corner with a small basket of toys next to it, two navy blue arm chairs opposite, and a low table in between. A small boy with messy black hair is sat on the sofa with his arms wrapped protectively around the backpack on his lap. His eyes dart up to meet mine as I take a few cautious steps into the room before they slide back down to the floor.

"Al," Mrs. Figg says from the doorway, "This is Mr. Potter. You're going to be staying with him now. I'll just pop off to finish some paperwork. Mr. Potter, you can either stay here, or wait in my office."

Mrs. Figg looks at me expectantly. "I'll stay, thanks." She pauses as if she expects I'll change my mind, but this isn't the first time I've met a new foster child.

"Hi Al," I say brightly, but I try to keep the volume of my voice in check. I've been told more than once that I can be a bit much sometimes. "My name is George, and that's what I'd prefer you call me if that's alright with you. None of this Mr. Potter nonsense," I say with a mock shiver. "So formal. Do you mind if I sit down in this chair here?"

Al looks from me to the chair I'm pointing to and shrugs one shoulder limply. His face remains expressionless, but I can't blame him. It's been a rough few months by the sounds of it, and while I can relate, I can't imagine having to deal with it as a child. I, at least, had some level of autonomy when dealing with my grief. Kids are at the mercy of the government.

I sit in the chair that is closer to Al's line of sight and set my bag on the floor beside me. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? Warm enough? Need anything at all?" I ask, pulling a few snacks and small cartons of juice from my bag. "Help yourself," I say as I stab a straw into my own carton.

"I know this must be nerve-wracking for you, Al, so I thought before we leave I could tell you a bit about myself and where we'll be living. So, yeah, my name is George. It's alright if you forget. I'll try to repeat it a lot over the next few days. I know this is a lot to take in." I set a photo on the table in Al's line of sight and point to each person in turn. "So obviously this is me, here, and my husband, Harry. We've been together for twelve years. These are our sons, Teddy, he's this tall bean-stalk with the blue hair. He nagged us for _months_ before we finally caved and let him dye it for his birthday," I say rolling my eyes fondly. "It does sort of suit him, and I guess there's no better time than when you're young. He's fourteen. He likes being a big brother, so if you ever need anything and Harry or I aren't around, just ask Teddy. He might even teach you how to play the cello if you're interested. This here next to Teddy is Jamie. He's eight, so you two will be at the same school once we can get you enrolled. We fostered Jamie when he was two and then adopted him. Harry adopted Teddy after his parents died when he was a baby. Teddy's parents were actually Harry's guardians after his dad died. So, we have a bit of an idea how scary all this can be. And Mrs. Figg says you haven't really wanted to speak lately, and that's okay. I trust your voice will come back when it's ready to. In the meantime, I just want you to know that Harry and I want to take care of you. If you need something, anything, we need you to find a way to let us know so we can help you. It's not a bother at all. We just really want you to be comfortable. Do you understand?"

Al's eyes darted up to meet mine again, holding contact a little longer than before as he nods.

"Excellent. Now. Are you hungry?" I ask again. His eyes dart up to mine and lock on a colourful packet of fruit snacks, then flit back to his hands. "Ah, Harry has a bit of a sweet tooth, too. He has a knack for choosing the best fruit snacks." I pick up the small packet and open the side and offer it directly to Al. His hand tightens around his backpack as if he's holding himself back. "It's alright, Al. You can have a snack. See if Harry's still making good choices. If he isn't, that means on Sunday when we go to the shops, you and I will be on snack duty instead."

Al tentatively reaches out and takes one small red gummy treat. I set the packet on the table in front of him. "Have at it, buddy. Oh, I forgot to mention," I say going back to the photo, "the lady of the household. This here is Dobby," I say, pointing to the slim, short-haired, medium-sized dog sitting between the boys for our family photo. The best guess the vet could come up with was that Dobby is a lurcher, Staffordshire terrier cross, and she's too beautiful and too sweet to go around calling her a mutt. Her rich brindled coat glows in the lighting of the photo. Her forehead is a little wrinkled above her eyebrows, and her pointed ears flop over on themselves in half. Light brown fur around her nose is just beginning to change to white, but it's barely noticeable. She looks soft to the touch, and she is. "Dobby just joined us at the end of July. The boys and I chose very carefully to make sure we found a dog that was just the right fit for us. Dobby is six years old, just like you, Al. She's not too tall, but she'll come up to your chest," I say, holding up my hand to show the boy how tall she is. "She's really sweet. She loves having her bum scratched, so that's a great way to make friends. She also likes belly rubs, but she can take a few minutes to warm up to new people, so don't be surprised if she seems a bit scared of you at first. She'll greet you in her own time and be your best friend before you know it. Have you ever been around dogs before, Al?"

He shakes his head.

"Do they frighten you?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Well, Dobby is a really good dog. When you meet, you should hold out your hand like this so she can smell you. Dog manners, you understand. Then once she stops sniffing you can pet her head lightly. We never pull her ears or her tail or her collar, because we don't want to hurt her. Does that make sense?"

He nods.

"We also don't try to ride her like a horse. Jamie tried when Harry and I weren't looking. I don't know what that boy was thinking," I say rolling my eyes. "Poor thing didn't know what was happening. She gave me such a betrayed look, like 'is this my life now?' So she got a strip of bacon and oversaw Jamie's timeout."

I pull out my phone and show Al a video of Dobby playing fetch in the back garden. She makes it about halfway to the toy, then abandons the chase in favour of flopping onto her back to roll in the grass. When she rolls back to her stomach, she looks at the camera, panting with a wide smile, tongue lolling out to the side, and eyes drifting closed in the warm sunlight. Then as if she just remembered, she trots off to the toy and brings it back proudly chomping rhythmically on the squeaker.

A flicker of a smile crosses Al's face, so I move on to the next video. We're at the dinner table, and the camera is pointed toward Harry, who is helping Jamie cut up his chicken. Off to the right side, a pair of ears slowly rise up above the table top, like submarine periscopes. I lean to the side enough to make eye contact with Dobby, and she slowly sinks back to the floor looking demure. She even crosses her front paws, to sell the innocence even more. I move the camera back to focus on Harry. He's still working on the last bits of chicken, and Teddy is chattering on about his maths homework, but in the background, you can hear the clatter of claws on hardwood as Dobby stands again. A little, shiny black doggy nose slowly rises above the table surface, twitching and wiggling wildly as Dobby sniffs our dinner. I lean the camera to the side again to capture her. She freezes, mid sniff, giving me side-eye, and she slowly sinks back to the floor.

Al giggles quietly as she lays her head down on her crossed paws, looking as innocent as ever.

I move to sit beside Al on the small sofa, and I swipe through photos on my phone, telling him little stories about each one. There are a few from work I skip past quickly, but they are mostly photos of Dobby playing, sleeping, or out for a walk. I've taken to snapping photos of all the weird places and positions I find Teddy asleep in because he's a growing teenager. We actually took him to the doctor earlier this year to make sure he wasn't narcoleptic or something, but his GP assured us everything was normal.

Jamie is the outgoing, photogenic one of the family. He likes to strike poses when we're out and about. I don't always take the photos because we're trying to teach him that he doesn't need to touch _everything he sees._ But since the season started, there are a lot of photos of Jamie playing football with his team. Harry still features heavily in my camera roll - Harry with food dye on his fingertips trying science experiments in the kitchen with the Jamie and Rose; Harry wearing a princess party hat and dancing with Lily at her fourth birthday party; Harry wearing a slightly more askew princess party hat, rocking a baby Gavin to sleep, with a proud and smitten Neville looking on from his left; Harry making kissy faces at Dobby as he rubs the spot behind her ears.

They say pictures are worth a thousand words. And I can almost feel Al relaxing ever so slightly next to me. I open a small packet of mini cheddar biscuits and we share them as I continue telling him stories until Mrs. Figg returns with the rest of the paperwork. Al holds my hand as we walk to the exit.

I pull an old winter coat from my bag that used to be Jamie's before he went through a growth spurt. "I wasn't sure if you would have a good coat, so I brought this for you. We'll get you something that fits better in the next few days, but this will keep you warm for now. Al squeezes his backpack between his feet as he slides into the slightly over-large red coat. I help him with the zipper and we settle the backpack back on his shoulders. He holds my hand as we walk to the bus stop, and he seems to enjoy my stories. I try calling Harry again, but it goes to voicemail once more, so I finally breakdown and text him not to be surprised to see a new face at the dinner table.

I didn't get much notice that Al would be placed with us, and while we had the room set up already, I would normally have refreshed the linens, hoovered and dusted before hand, but today there wasn't time. I give Al a tour of the house and then his bedroom. We go over the most important rules and Al watches as I freshen his room for him. He unpacks his backpack carefully. We find a few things in the attic like a plush, stuffed frog that Jamie just _had to have_ from the zoo gift shop which never got much use, as well as a pile of lightly worn clothes that will fit him that I put through the wash.

Dobby is content to follow us lazily from room to room, and Al pets her cautiously whenever she wanders close enough to touch. When I check in on Al twenty minutes after he laid down for a nap, I'm not surprised to see Dobby has curled up at the foot of the bed, snoring softly.

\--**--**--**--

"How are we supposed to make this work if he doesn't speak?" Harry asks late that evening after the kids are in bed.

"He's traumatised, Harry. Surely you can relate? His mum and brother died four months ago and he's just been shuffled between temporary placements ever since. That's why he's with us. The last two homes didn't want to deal with his temporary mutism. I'm not an expert, but I think he'll start speaking again when he feels safe. We can do that. And besides, at some point, he'll get tired of Jamie's rapid-fire questions and he'll tell him to fuck right off."

Harry sighs heavily. "Should we arrange for a child psychologist to see him?"

"Sure, love. But let's focus of getting him into a routine and see what that does. We need to give him time to settle in."

"I just hate the thought that he'll need something but won't be able to tell us."

I pat Harry's leg. "I know. But we'll find a way. We always do."

**\--**--**--**--**

**December 2031**

"Dobby, NOOOO!" A little voice cries from the kitchen. A little voice that, aside from the occasional giggle, I have never heard before. Followed by a crash and the clattering of claws on hardwood floors. I know exactly what's happened before I cross the threshold into the dining room. Al stands frozen next to the dessert table that is now missing a Christmas pudding and a bowl of custard. In one hand, Al holds a glass of water, the other is covered in custard. His whole left side is covered with custard that sloshed out of the bowl when Dobby upended it. The Christmas pudding Harry had plated moments ago before heading upstairs to take a quick shower is laying in crumbles at Al's feet. The shamefaced dog is standing by the door to the garden, somehow, miraculously, much less covered in custard than Al. The crystal bowl has shattered against the wood flooring, so I immediately scoop Al up so he doesn't cut his feet.

"You okay, little man?" I ask, taking the glass of water from his hand and setting it down.

"I- I didn't do it!" Al squeaks out, wild eyed.

"What? Of course you didn't." I point to Dobby - ears drooping, tail tucked, shoulders hunched, and eyes at their widest - the picture of guilt, and say, "it's pretty clear who the culprit is here." I wink at Al and crouch down to take a pinch of the Christmas pudding that doesn't appear to have touched the floor and swipe it through a glob of custard on his shoulder and take a taste. I let my eyes roll back, and moan. "I can tell why she couldn't resist. It's delicious."

I place another pinch of the pudding in Al's custard-covered hand, which he raises to his mouth to take his own taste. He nods enthusiastically.

"Good, yeah?" I ask.

Al nods with a tentative smile.

"Alright. Let's get you cleaned up."

I stand up again just as Harry rushes in. "What happened?" he gasps, eyes dancing around the mess. "Are you alright? Did you cut your feet?" Harry asks, surging forward to inspect Al properly.

"No. M'fine," Al mumbles quietly, making Harry freeze.

"Apparently, when properly motivated, Dobby _is_ tall enough to reach the tabletop," I say, shifting Al to sit higher up on my hip, not caring about the mess it's making of my clothes. Jamie materialises at Harry's hip and bursts out laughing.

"TEDDY! TEDDY! YOU HAVE TO COME SEE THIS!" Jamie yells, disappearing back down the hall to rouse Teddy from where ever he fell asleep this time.

"What do you say, Harry? Bath or floor?"

"Oh, go on. You're already puddinged. I've got the floor. And the bloody dog," Harry grumbles.

By the time Al and I get washed up and dressed, Harry and Teddy have managed to get everything cleaned except the little flecks of custard that managed to spray onto the ceiling. Teddy pats Harry's shoulder as he looks at the remains of his pudding in the bin amongst the shards of crystal, near tears. Harry's always taken pride in his Christmas pudding, which he steamed to perfection weeks ago. All of us have been looking forward the dessert, and it's such a shame it was ruined less than an hour before it was meant to be consumed. "There's always next year, Dad. And it's not so bad. We have party rings in the larder!" Teddy says, causing Harry to groan into his hands at the prospect.

Jamie's finished wiping Dobby down with a towel. She's still cowering as she moves around the room. If she were human, I'm sure she'd be wringing her hands and apologising profusely. I call her into the sitting room where Al and I sit on the sofa. She reluctantly approaches me, but I start petting her ears to calm her down.

"It's alright, Dobby. We shouldn't have left that in your reach. I know you know you're not allowed to eat from the table, but I also don't mean to tempt you." She clicks her tongue tentatively as I scratch under her chin, and Al leans forward to pet her shoulders. "Alright, you. Go lay down," I wave Dobby off to her bed, where she sinks down in to a contrite ball. But she springs up quickly, barking as Ron's family knocks on the door. We sit around the cramped table for a raucous Christmas Eve feast, just the nine of us, then play all sorts of family games to pass the time until bedtime.

Even though our Jamie is only eight, he's Santa for the first time this Christmas. I'm worried that he won't be able to keep the secret for Al's sake, but he promises three times over not to let it slip. Al's face is the most unburdened I've seen it yet in the two months he's been living with us. As encouraging as his Christmas Eve words are, he doesn't suddenly start talking all the time. But when I pass his room, sometimes I hear him telling Dobby stories in a hushed whisper. He laughs more, and over the next few weeks, more words slip out. They come out with more purpose and more confidence each time. And even more than that, he holds eye contact, and plays more freely with Jamie, Teddy and the Weasley cousins.

In a few months, he's not exactly a chatterbox, but he's more akin to a reserved six year old. Harry and I breathe a collective sigh of relief.

**\--**--**--**--**

**April 2035**

Teddy's eighteenth birthday party is possibly one of the worst days of my life. Well, aside from the obvious ones that are clearly worse. But the dramatic parent in me can't help but look at the young man in front of me and feel like the world is about to crumble beneath my feet. In just four months, Teddy will be away at university. Our baby will be taking care of himself. We still have our two other babies, but it won't be the same. Teddy's had his moments of teenage angst over the years, sure, but unlike the stories I hear about Angelina's son, nothing has been bad enough to make me glad he's leaving in anyway. I know Angelina is just joking that she'll be packing Freddie's things for him just to make sure he doesn't forget something and have to make a return trip, but I am so devastated by the prospect of Teddy leaving that I can't even joke about it.

_How are you not crying, George? The world, as we know it, is ending. Where's Peter Fucking Pan when you need him?_

We rented a room at the community centre to have enough space for the family to celebrate together. Teddy had a party (pub crawl) with his friends last night, but the Weasley's have descended for the weekend to wish him well. With his latest growth spurt, Teddy towers over both me and Harry. The only member of the family taller than him is Ron, but I suspect Teddy has one more growth spurt coming in his early twenties that will remedy that.

We play a variety of lawn games around our indoor venue, since it's raining buckets outside. Conversation flows easily and food is consumed steadily. We sit in a wide circle around the birthday boy as he opens his gifts. The theme for this year was 'get him things he'll need for the real world.' He's got all the cookware, dishes, utensils, and linens he'll need for living on his own in the fall. I gave him a basic tool kit that fits in a sleek case. He has never been as into tinkering with me as Jamie and Al are, but that doesn't mean he can't fix things up when he needs to. He also gets fun gifts like video games, vouchers for books on his tablet, and graphic tees with puns on.

All the gifts make sense until Teddy opens his gift from Jamie. Several weeks ago, Jamie asked for ten quid to buy Teddy's gift. He wanted to keep it secret, and we let him. We wondered at the time if it was a mistake, but what kind of damage could a twelve-year-old do with ten quid at Boots?

And all my wonderings are confused when Teddy unwraps a set of cheap, inflatable water wings.

"Er, thanks, Jamie," Teddy says, hesitantly, confused. He's been an avid swimmer for years, even competing on the school team for two years before dropping it so he and his mates could start a (terrible, terrible) band.

_Ugh, don't remind me. My ears only just stopped ringing._

"Dad said the only thing you had to worry about at uni was drowning in pussy, so I thought these would help," Jamie explains, brightly.

Dead. Silence.

He said it with such a straight face, timing and delivery absolute perfection. And he had the guts to say it in front of everyone, including his parents, grandparents, and Uncle Percy. And I know he knows exactly what it means, just as I know Al, sitting at his side, looking innocently confused, does not. I stop myself breathing in hopes I can keep myself from laughing, but Harry - the traitor - breaks the silence with a snort. He tries to cover it with his hand, but his shoulders are silently shaking and he hangs his head in his hands. My body betrays me and I let out a half-stifled, high-pitched giggle. What really breaks my self control is Teddy's bright red face, as he slowly closes his eyes, quietly groaning, "nnoooooooo......" in the centre of our family circle.

I can't help but laugh. Hard. Knee slapping, need to be escorted to a quiet room to collect myself, might have weed a little bit, sort of laughing. And Harry is right at my side, matching me for laughs. Of course these are the kids we raised. Of course. I don't remember ever saying that, so that adds another level to the joke. Now everyone of our family thinks we said this inappropriate thing, both about and in front of our kids, when in reality, we just need to reset the parental controls on the internet again. Oh, that little shit....

Al brings us each a cup of water in the corridor where we've slumped against the walls, chuckling occasionally. He waits until we've finished the water and wiped the tears from our eyes to say, "I don't get it."

I couldn't be more in love with all my boys.

**\--**--**--**--**

**February 2037**

"You're not serious," Jamie says, trying to block the doorway into Nando's before Harry, Al, and I can follow. His date has turned around to look at us just a few steps inside the restaurant, waiting for Jamie to join her. "You're not coming in here with us."

Harry laughs and turns the teen around by his shoulders, pushes him forward and opens the door wide enough for all four of us to walk through. Harry leans down to speak into Jamie's ear in a low voice.

"Nina's parents only agreed to this date on the conditions it was chaperoned, so yes, we are coming in here, too."

Jamie shrugs off Harry's hand and replies hotly, "I know that, but I thought you'd wait outside."

It's my turn to snort. "Kid, it's February. We aren't waiting outside in the cold with our faces pressed up against the window for an hour."

"You're going to ruin it!" Jamie accuses.

"No we won't. We're just going to have dinner at a separate table from you. You won't even notice we're here," Harry tries to reason.

"This is _so_ not cool," Jamie pouts. "You never chaperoned any of Teddy's dates."

"Teddy didn't date till he was seventeen. You are still thirteen, and you know you aren't allowed to date yet. This is the compromise. Deal with it," I say, shortly. It's been a long and stressful week, and I'm not able to muster any sort of sympathy. I want to be snuggled up in my pyjamas, nursing a herbal tea, and pretending to read a book while actually zoning out listening to music, not chaperoning two teens that will be 'dating,' at best, for all of two weeks.

_Plus, that body spray he's wearing is giving me a headache. You need to revisit the less is more conversation. ASAP._

"Don't keep your date waiting. It's rude," Harry says, nudging the kid forward.

Jamie shuffles forward a few steps before turning and darting back to us. "You haven't given me any money."

Harry raises his eyebrows as I cross my arms over my chest with my stern expression on. Jamie stares back at us impatiently before rolling his eyes and grumbling, "could I please have some money to pay for dinner?"

"Why, yes, Jamie, since you asked so nicely." Harry is more subtle in the hand off than I would have been. I'd have made a show of taking out my wallet and pulling out the notes, just on the off chance it'll embarrass the kid enough that he won't want to go on another date until he's financially independent.

_Keep dreaming, brother. There's no stopping those pesky hormones._

"Please don't sit next to us. Please," Jamie begs before jogging over to his date.

The restaurant is busy enough that our only option is to sit three tables away and across the aisle from the two teens. Al has been dragging his feet all night, not wanting to be witness to this rite of passage for his brother. He picks at his chicken, disinterested, throwing glances over to Jamie and Nina every few minutes. We were planning on leaving him with Ron and Hermione, but their entire family is down with the flu, so... table for three.

I don't know what I was worried about. Jamie - who we have definitely taught and enforced table manners for over the years - is talking with his mouth full, displaying and sometimes spraying, masticated chicken as he speed talks. He speaks animatedly, waving his hands around wildly, and we catch the occasional sound effect that he shouts above the general noise of a full restaurant. The bite of chicken that he speared on his fork is waved around as he speaks, dripping sauce onto the table top, before Jamie plucks the bite off his fork with his fingers and plops it into his mouth.

_Ugh... I may vomit._

"What. The. Fuck." Harry mutters under his breath as we watch the appalling display of table manners in front of us. "I've never.... I have no words.... Does he eat like this at school?"

"Yep," Al says, pulling out his mobile to start texting. "Whenever you aren't around, he's a right slob."

Al sets his mobile down, takes a bite of his dish and stares at Nina and Jamie. As we watch, Nina flinches suddenly, and a horrified look crosses her face. I mean, her face was already showing she was uncomfortable, but now she looks like she wants to run. I don't know what happened, because Jamie wasn't actually speaking at the time of the flinch. But then our boy presses on, completely oblivious to his date's facial expression.

Al picks up his mobile again, sends a text, sets his mobile down and watches Nina and Jamie. She flinches again and scoots back a fraction in her seat. Jamie is still oblivious.

"Did anyone hear from Teddy this week?" Harry asks, breaking our silence.

I shake my head, and Al says, "Not since our call last weekend."

Harry nods, and sighs. I reach over and squeeze his forearm comfortingly. "They say the kids who don't call all the time are the ones who've adjusted well. It's a good thing, love."

Harry sighs again, "I know. I just miss him. I thought he'd spend more time with us over winter break."

"He has a job now, Harry. You know he couldn't take a whole month off to visit. He needs the extra pocket money for the rest of school term. Maybe next year we'll visit him instead, yeah?" I suggest. I'm pulled from our conversation by movement in my peripheral. Al is texting again. The look he's giving Jamie and Nina is setting off that 'he's up to something' instinct in my parent brain, and I notice Nina flinch three more times in fairly quick succession, now sitting as far away from Jamie as her seat will allow.

"Al, what are you up to?" I ask.

"Nothing!" A wide-eyed Al answers too quickly. He's never been a good liar, and a goofy smile lights his face as he starts to giggle. I don't even have to put on my dad face to get the truth from him. It's like he physically can't tell a lie without immediately outing himself. "Well, alright," he concedes. "I changed his text notification to a fart noise and turned the volume all the way up before we left the house. And I've been texting him to make it go off. I thought he'd be embarrassed, but I don't think he's even noticed."

"Well, that explains the flinching," Harry mutters, wiping his lips with his napkin and leaning back in his chair.

"Good one, kid," I praise, offering up a high-five to our youngest.

As much as I don't want to have to deal with Jamie dating, I also can't let Nina leave without clearing the air.

_Ha! I see what you did there, Georgie. Nice._

I text Jamie a reminder to walk his date to the door as Harry drives us back to Nina's house. A horrible, wet, loud, electronic fart noise sounds from the back seat of our silent car. I turn around to confront them, and I'm greeted with expressions of disgust, confusion, and amusement.

"Is your text noise a fart sound now?" I ask Jamie directly.

He shrugs, pulling out his mobile to inspect it. "Don't think so. Why don't you text me again?"

I do, and the horrible noise rings out again. A flash of understanding crosses Nina's face, and her expression morphs to sheepishly apologetic at the misunderstanding. Well, it does for all of a millisecond until Jamie bursts out laughing.

"That's the greatest thing ever! I didn't know I could make it do that! I wonder when that happened? Bah, who cares? I'm never changing it back. That's hilarious! Isn't that hilarious, Nina?" Jamie asks excitedly.

"No," she replies, coolly, just as we pull up in front of her house. She, unlike our son, remembers her manners and thanks us for dinner and wishes us a pleasant evening. She waves off Jamie's offer to walk her to her door before practically running away from our car.

As we pull back onto the street, Jamie cockily folds his arms behind his head and says, "I think that went rather well."

\--**--**--**--

**June 2040**

Teddy's girlfriend whistles directly in my ear using her finger and thumb as Teddy walks across the stage in his fancy robes. Jamie and Al cheer like madmen, trying to outdo each other for noise. They have nothing on either me or Harry. How my husband is able to make this much noise and still steadily operate his camera is, frankly, impressive.

Teddy patiently lets Harry direct him around the Edinburgh campus once the ceremony is over so we can take photos of him in his graduation robes in front of all the classic landmarks. He doesn't notice the two small, familiar signs I've pulled from my bag as Harry tries to shuffle him into better lighting.

I clear my throat to get Harry's and Teddy's attention, then present him with a Teddy the Tortoise Goes to School: NEVER AGAIN! sign.

Teddy laughs, and jokes, "you never know. Maybe someday I'll be Dr. Potter?"

We all share equally sceptical looks, because no matter how studious and brilliant our Teddy is, he isn't interested in deep-dive academic research. He holds up the sign with renewed enthusiasm, and Harry's camera clicks away.

The next sign is the quiz sheet we've made all the Potter boys fill out before school each year. This one reads:

Edward R. L. Potter

Age: 23

Favourite Colour: Teal

Favourite Food: Spaghetti Bolognese

Favourite Activity: Symphony and Cycling

When I grow up, I want to be a: teacher

The photo shoot wraps up, and we walk the familiar route back to Teddy's first home. Mrs. Sprout is watering the plants in her window boxes when we round the corner. She waves us over, cheerily, pulling Teddy down for a hug.

"Congratulations, young man. I'm so proud of you," she says, patting his cheek fondly.

She holds Teddy's elbow as she shuffles into his house. Mum's prepared a full buffet for the occasion, the aroma of which, thankfully, masks the general scent of bachelor pad that assaulted us when we arrived yesterday. Teddy's friends and roommates join us, as well as his girlfriend, who may or may not live here, too. Who knows? The house and garden are bursting with activity as we celebrate Teddy's achievement together.

The garden isn't flourishing quite like it had back thirteen years ago when Harry and I last lived here, but Mrs. Sprout has slowed down quite a bit even in the five years Teddy's been studying in Edinburgh. The arrangement couldn't have worked out better for either of us. We had Mrs. Sprout not-so-subtly keeping her eye out for Teddy's well-being, and he was able to help around her house whenever she needed a favour from a tall young man such as him.

Having Teddy back in Edinburgh hasn't always been the easiest, what with the six hour train ride separating us. The upside is that Jamie and Al are now familiar with all our favourite old haunts, and all of us Potters have a soft spot in our hearts for this city.

The paint on our bright pink door might be faded and beginning to crack. Hagrid's Hut might not be the same without our giant friend with his equally giant personality. The shops may have been repainted and changed hands a few times over. Houses may have been modernised, and some have now seen better days. There may be more solar panels than I'd have thought possible for such a cloudy city, but the cool breeze still whips up the streets off the water in the winter, and the view from Arthur's Seat is just as majestic. The bike ride down to Leith is still relaxing. The grass at Holyrood Park is still my favourite place to lie back, cuddled up next to Harry and breath deep. The air here is still healing. I will always owe my life to the magic of this city that brought me to Harry by chance and set a course for all our lives to be better for having known each other.

Looking at Harry smiling at me across the garden, I know he feels it, too.

\--**--**--**--

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are differing opinions on the matter, but in general - as far as I can tell - published works over 50,000 words are considered novels. I'm not going to go around calling myself an amateur novelist or anything, but I'm not going to lie - twelve year old me would be very impressed with myself. 
> 
> I went into the epilogue with this one note written down for it: "Don't imply romantic connections to the Weasley grandkids because it's fucking weird even if they aren't blood relatives." It got a bit out of hand in the last two weeks, as I kept extending or adding new scenes as I edited, but ... whatever. I enjoyed it. As tempting as it was to keep writing scenes of Harry and George over the years, like them finally indulging in a romantic anniversary trip once they are empty nesters, or them becoming grandparents, or any number of other milestones that come later in life, I think this was a good place to stop. I assure you, in my mind, the happy times continue for the Potter and Weasley families. 
> 
> Thank you for reading to the end. I hope to have entertained you. I'd love to know what you think, whether you're reading this in 2020 or 2040. I wish you all the very best.


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